


A Gentlemen's Agreement

by SHARKMARTINI



Series: An Unexpected Courtship [2]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Dancing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Etiquette, M/M, POV Alternating, SnowBaz, blackmail lite, food as a love language, harlequin romance-esque, lots of lounging in the countryside, victorian language of flowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22201921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SHARKMARTINI/pseuds/SHARKMARTINI
Summary: “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” -Jane Austen, Pride & Prejudice
Relationships: Simon Snow/Agatha Wellbelove, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: An Unexpected Courtship [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597630
Comments: 118
Kudos: 449





	A Gentlemen's Agreement

**Author's Note:**

> This was definitely inspired by [tiny's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynosure_phrases/pseuds/cynosure_phrases) amazing fic, [Of Wealth and Leisure](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17343617). Also by like a hundred different harlequin romances and every single jane austen novel. 
> 
> I don't know anything about history, which means I used google for all the research. Nothing in this is completely historically accurate, because if I didn't like what I was reading, I chose to ignore it instead.
> 
> There’s a post with some contextual information [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22194445) if you’re interested, but you can probably go in blind if you’re adventurous.
> 
> Also last but NOT least, thanks to [Kris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/pseuds/KrisRix) not only for betaing this, but ALSO for the gorgeous little sketch that can be found [here](https://krisrix.tumblr.com/post/190201443147/i-had-the-honour-to-beta-sharkmartinis-newest). it's GORGEOUS, and I think about it constantly.

**SIMON**  
  
It figures- I've been a guest at this house party for almost a week, but right when I am to depart my valet tells me my gloves have been misplaced.  
  
I can’t leave without those damned gloves.  
  
When I saw the dark leather steamer trunk, I knew they would be in there. It's a much finer leather than my own- buttery soft, worn with age, but it looked just enough like my own trunk that my valet must have dropped the gloves inside.  
  
I sit next to the trunk for what seems like forever, watching as the clock in the entrance hall counts half of an hour's time. Whoever the owner is, they are not in a hurry to leave.  
  
I am.  
  
I have a meeting with Mr. Lwelleyn later this afternoon. My carriage is already waiting outside.  
  
When I decide to open up the trunk and look, it's only because I'm desperate to leave. Mr. Lwelleyn does not tolerate tardiness, especially not from me.  
  
I find the first glove easily, sitting right on top of a pair of well-tailored trousers. I go digging for the other one, spewing most of the contents of the trunk to the marble floor. I hope the owner won't blame the mess on their servants.  
  
I find the other glove and hurriedly start shoving everything back inside.  
  
"Ouch, _fuck_."  
  
I've cut my finger on something hidden underneath the snarl of clothing. I pick up the damned book with one hand, and suck my ring finger into my mouth at the same time. I can taste the tang of salt from the wound.  
  
The book has no title. That's weird. 

It's small, bound in green silk. A very fine-looking book.  
  
I take a look around- there's still no one in the entrance hall.  
  
I decide to take a peek- I hadn't thought to pack a novel for the road. I could use a distraction during the ride, long as it is.  
  
_His tongue runs along my bottom lip as I grip his biceps- unsteady on my feet. No woman has ever made me feel as deeply, and with such passion, and I wonder to myself-_  
  
What am I reading? I turn the page and read on-  
  
I throw the book back inside the trunk immediately and slam it shut.

My skin feels hot and tight all over. That was not meant for my eyes.

I’m still staring at the trunk (for what reason, I am not sure. It’s not as though God will suddenly choose this particular moment to smite it), when the Duke of Pitch enters the room, his valet scrambling to keep up with his long legs.

He sneers at me, but I don’t rise to the bait, unsettled as I am. I watch in horror as he dons his hat and walks out the front door, his valet picking up the dark leather trunk and setting off behind him.

\-----

It is not at all uncommon for a man of six and twenty to be unmarried. Especially not one like the Duke, who finds himself in excess of responsibilities and deficient in time . 

He may be the most eligible bachelor in the country, but as Mr. Lwelleyn has told me, he has never bothered courting any of the ladies during the season (although now I might understand why).

He is the reason Mr. Lwelleyn says I am to marry at once.

Or rather, he and the rest of the _ton_. Mr. Lwelleyn has long been telling me of how the aristocracy work constantly behind the scenes to undermine those of us with no real position in society despite our means. As such, a man without a title cannot dare to hope to participate in government, but Mr. Lwelleyn believes that should I make an advantageous marriage, we may yet gain that through influence of my future father-in-law and sons.

“All we need, Simon,” he tells me often, “is a way in.”

It has been a trying few years, to say the least. There is no shortage of eligible young women looking to make a match, but I have yet to become acquainted with any of them. Mr. Lwelleyn has been patient with me, but it appears his patience is wearing thin.

“This year, Simon, this year you need to marry, and marry well. Unfortunately, I will not be able to secure your future unless you achieve this.”

And so it is agreed that I am to marry with haste.

  
**BAZ**  
  
I'm enjoying a lively lunch with some relatives in town when I spot Simon Snow lingering near the front of the restaurant. Dev notices him too and is quick to point out that he's neglected to wear a cravat . We all laugh.  
  
Snow is a brute.  
  
We quiet down somewhat as he approaches, although I cannot for the life of me imagine what for.  
  
"Mr. Pitch, Baz, could you spare a moment?" he asks in a manner that is entirely too familiar. A quick glance around the table proves it- everyone's brows are raised in interest.  
  
"Excuse us," I make our apologies and he follows me out into the street.  
  
"It's poor etiquette to approach someone in public that you haven't been properly acquainted with," I tell him as I pull out my silver cigarette case.  
  
He frowns.  
  
It's a lovely look on him.  
  
"We are acquainted," he says slowly like I might contradict him, "you harass me at every opportunity."  
  
"In _private_ ," I stress, blowing smoke in his direction. "As you well know, we've never been properly introduced. That means in public you should have the sense to avoid me, or at the very least use my proper title if the situation was so dire that you had no other choice but to accost me."  
  
"No," he says immediately. Bloody Whig.   
  
"Well, Snow. It's been a pleasure conversing, but-"  
  
"Wait!" he stops me. "I actually do need to talk to you.” He looks back and forth, glancing uneasily at the crowded street.  
  
"Then talk," I tell him. I’ll admit to being terribly curious. Our paths don’t often cross, although we share several acquaintances. However, we had recently been guests at a mutual acquaintance's house party. A week with Snow in my periphery- it had been a prime ogling opportunity, and I had been pleased to take full advantage of such a situation.  
  
"I need you to help me,” he says quietly. “I need a wife by the end of the year.”

I feel my brows shoot up in surprise. "While I'm quite flattered Snow, I'm afraid I could not dare to accept your proposal until you ask my father for permission to court me properly ."  
  
He growls. I wish he wouldn't do that. It's unnecessarily arousing.   
  
"You bloody- I just. I can't-"  
  
I want to take pity on him, but it won't do to give in to such whims.  
  
"You just can't. Well Snow, as it happens, neither can I." I turn to head back into the restaurant. What a baffling encounter.  
  
"I know about the book !" he yells at my back, and my blood runs cold before my mind figures it out.  
I turn around and stare at him. He's looking at me expectantly. He startles when I grab him by the wrist and drag him into the side alley.  
  
"I don't want to fight!" he throws his arms up as I push him up against the brick of the alley, fisting his collar.  
  
"No, just to threaten me." I should have just pretended I didn't know what he was talking about.  
  
"No, not that either. I only meant-," he takes a big breath. "I need your help. I need to marry into the gentry. There's just- there's so many rules and things I don't know, and I don't have anyone to teach me. I was hoping you could help me."  
  
"No, I couldn't.” I answer without thinking.  
  
"Right, so I thought you'd say that. Which brings me back to the book." My face burns with shame. "I know about it, I found it in your trunk at the house party last month. I was hoping that in exchange for my silence you'd consider teaching me how to act posh."  
  
I release him in disgust as I realize what he's saying.  
  
"You're blackmailing me."  
  
"No! But, just- would you consider doing this for me if I promised to never mention it to anyone?”  
  
"Of course not," I say honestly.  
  
"Well then, you really leave me no choice- ”  
  
"No, Snow- you're leaving _me_ no choice."  
  
"Look, it's only a small favour. I need to be married by the end of the season. Either way I expect it won't take up too much of your time-”  
  
I sigh.  
  
"You massively underestimate the amount of time and effort it will take to make you into a proper gentleman," I scold him.  
  
"Then the sooner we get started, the sooner you'll be shot of me."  
  
"Unlikely. If you manage to marry into the gentry, I'll be forced to see you at every house party until the day one of us dies."  
  
"I promise to never speak to you again after this. I swear it.”

I take a moment to think it over, but he hasn’t left me with much of a choice.  
  
"Fine, then." We shake on it.  
  
"I'll drop by your terrace on the morrow then, before lunch,” he tells me.

I don’t bother saying goodbye, instead straightening my jacket and walking back to the high street.

**SIMON**  
  
I don't sleep well that night.  
  
I hadn't wanted to threaten him, but there was no other way to convince him to render aid.  
  
(And it had to be Mr. Pitch. His manners are flawless. He's the most eligible bachelor in the country. I've only got one shot at this, and I need all the help I can get. It's not like the boys’ homes taught me anything other than how to survive. But surviving isn't the same as living, as being _alive_.)  
  
I understand why Mr. Lwelleyn wants this from me. With no natural born heir, he's probably concerned about the future of his family name and fortune. It makes sense that he would only feel comfortable leaving it to a man who had already secured himself in society.

And that’s what I intend to do. I will show Mr. Lwelleyn that he can put his faith in me. That I’m the kind of man that can get things done, and for the greater good. 

It’s been wonderful, feeling as though I’m a small part of his business, his family.

I intend to show my appreciation by making myself worthy of such a position. 

  
**MORDELIA**  
  
I walk into the dining room for luncheon and notice the guest immediately.  
  
He's forgotten to wear a cravat .  
  
Upon noticing my presence, Baz stands and gestures for the visitor to do the same. He kicks the table as he gets up and the glassware wobbles precariously.  
  
"Mordelia. Mr. Snow, this is my sister, Lady Mordelia Grimm. Mordelia, this is Mr. Snow."  
  
Snow is awkward and waves clumsily before Baz slaps his hand down, looking scandalized . Then he glares at me until I remember my manners and curtesy.  
  
So fucking weird. Baz hates standing at attention. His manners are impeccable, but we've never stood to tradition in our household. This must all be for Snow's benefit.  
  
Good Lord, I hope he doesn't mean for me to marry him.  
  
"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Snow."  
  
"Thanks," he says earnestly, looking over at Baz.  
  
Oh shit.  
  
I take my usual seat, which happens to be across from Mr. Snow, and help myself to some wine. I'm going to need it.  
  
Baz and Mr. Snow sit down, and I wait for someone to tell me what's going on.  
  
"Mr. Snow works for Mr. Lwelleyn. He's hoping to enter the Lwelleyn family business within the next few years. It is our hope that we should find him a suitable match before then, to help establish him in society."  
  
I hold back a hysterical laugh.   
  
"As I do not have much experience with courtship, I was hoping we might look to you for guidance on what exactly young women are expecting in a suitor."  
  
I let myself laugh out loud this time. Mr. Snow looks at Baz, alarmed, but Baz just narrows his eyes and grimaces. "Obviously, we are desperate if we must turn to my sister for advice. I warn you, sir, not to look to her behaviour for example ."  
  
Baz not having much experience with courtship is the understatement of the century. The only reason he's managed to stay unmarried without drawing suspicion is because he's known to be famously cold. The ladies in my sewing circles are always asking me if it's true that my brother's only love is for money. I always tell them no- he's also rather fond of solitude.  
  
Which of course couldn't be more wrong.  
  
He's too fixated on following the rules of society to let himself behave as he desires. We've never much talked about it, but I know he yearns for companionship. I wish he'd let himself have what he wants.   
  
"I'm sorry, but I was so worried that you were trying to marry me off.” I explain, “I'm just a little relieved."  
  
"And why wouldn't you want to marry Mr. Snow?"  
  
"Because we don't know each other? Because I have no wish to marry?"  
  
"I thought all young women of means hoped to be married." Mr. Snow sounds surprised, like he’d never heard anything to refute such a claim.  
  
"Not at all, Mr. Snow. Many want the things they want because they are expected to, rather than because it is something they intrinsically desire."  
  
"Amen," he agrees, and I laugh again .  
  
There may be hope for him yet.  
  
"So, how might I be of assistance, dearest brother?"  
  
"I imagine your contribution to be two-fold. No doubt we will have to enquire as to the education and interests of young ladies. If Mr. Snow were to study these topics he may yet become an excellent conversationalist. Second, we might need you to introduce Mr. Snow to your friends, get word out that he is available and looking for a fine wife."  
  
Snow makes a noise before cutting in, "I've already selected a wife. I'd like to marry Agatha Wellbelove."  
  
I raise my brows. Baz just sighs.  
  
"Your mouth is full, Snow. Refrain from your incessant babble until you're done swallowing."  
  
"Baron Wellbelove's daughter?" I ask. I'm not surprised. She has been out in society for two seasons despite easily being the most beautiful of the ton. Rumour has it that her father has been holding out, hoping for a match that would add enough wealth to his name to both line his pockets and pay off his debt. "You may then be in luck. If you are indeed to inherit the Lwelleyn fortune, her father would favour you enough to let you court her. Rumour has it that he has debts that will be coming due. That is the reason he has been hesitant to let her marry, he has no dowry for her and is hoping for a suitor that would look beyond that, and in addition to securing the family’s position."  
  
They stare at me.  
  
"How do you know this?" Baz asks, leaning over the table and lacing his fingers together.  
  
"Women talk," I tell him cryptically, before picking up my wineglass.  
  
"I cannot imagine that Baron Wellbelove has been eager to discuss his financial affairs with anyone but his solicitor and creditors, all of which are men, and of which you are neither."  
  
"Look, do you want my help or not you stubborn arse?"   
  
Snow glances between the two of us like he's afraid of Baz's reaction to my outburst. The corners of Baz’s mouth twitch.  
  
"Good point. I would dearly love your help in this," Baz concedes, going back to his lunch. Snow is still frowning.

“No disrespect, but surely you are not the average lady.” Snow looks over at my brother.

Baz grins. “I already warned you. But this lady is all we’ve got.”

“And she’s more than enough,” I chide them both. They have the decency to keep the rest of their comments to themselves.

We adjourn to the parlour after luncheon.

“Well?” I ask, gesturing to Snow. He looks around, confused. “Charm me. What are your interests? Why should a lady choose you as a suitor?”

“Uh,” he pulls at his collar and glances over at Baz, who makes a face. 

_An interesting face indeed._

It takes most of the afternoon, but I learn everything there is to know about Simon Snow, orphan and businessman. One of the things I learn is that it is painfully obvious he does not belong in polite society .

“Right,” I tell him, after he’s done describing his top eight favourite puddings , “I can sense where we should begin. At once I might point out that your manners and your knowledge about social etiquette are lacking, as well as the ease with which you would fit in with society.” He makes a distressed face. “My apologies- I do believe you are quite charming however, if a little rough around the edges.” 

“That may yet come to your advantage. This isn’t the eighteenth century, there are women who would welcome a husband who was a little less genteel.” Baz chimes in from across the room. He’s had a book open in his lap for most of the afternoon, but I haven’t seen him turn a single page .

“Quite. Although I may suggest that we do not rely on that to secure your marriage to Lady Agatha,” I smile at him. I hope he knows I’m trying to be kind. Snow is an eager sort, with a sunny disposition, and it is obvious he cares very deeply about being liked by others.

“It’s getting late. I suggest we end here for the night and continue another day.” Baz suggests, and I nod, before curtseying and heading off to find other amusement.

**BAZ**

I walk Snow to the door of the townhouse. The valet retrieves his hat and he murmurs thanks before looking back at me.

"I'll come back tomorrow then?” he asks.  
  
"Better not," I tell him, glancing around to make sure we're not being overheard by the servants. "This will require more time and effort than I anticipated. Come to the country estate- it wouldn't do to have people seeing you come and go in London. Who knows what kinds of rumours that will start."  
  
He frowns, "I hardly see-"  
  
"I have a young sister of marriageable age. I will not ruin her chances at courtship by having the town believe she is being courted by someone else." I tell him frankly.

What I really need is time. It won’t do to have Snow haunting my doorstep all of a sudden- our acquaintance is brand new and unknown among the _ton_. I do not usually attempt to avoid being the subject of gossip- it would be impossible- but I do wish to avoid making a scene whenever possible. Better to continue his lessons in private while I work out a way to introduce our acquaintance to society, in a manner that would avoid scandal. Perhaps a joint business venture of some sort. 

I sigh and add it to the list of things to I have to accomplish. The list is starting to get very long, indeed.  
  
  
**MORDELIA**  
  
He climbs into his carriage and leans out the window to wave as it drives away. He has to fumble for his hat which almost blows away in the wind.  
  
From beside me Baz sighs so loudly it makes him sound like a horse .  
  
"Are you in trouble, brother?" I ask sweetly.  
  
He feigns disinterest. "Not at all."  
  
I've always known my brother to be a liar.  
  
"Oh? Would you not agree that Mr. Snow is a handsome man?"  
  
I watch him clench his jaw, but he doesn't look away from the carriage as it makes its way up the road. I know my brother, and although he has never outright spoken of his inclinations, it’s obvious that Mr. Snow is an attractive sort of man.  
  
"He's a brute.” Baz finally says, “he isn't like us."  
  
"Of course not, but I gathered his less genteel nature would be exactly what you appreciated most about him." He gives me a sharp look, but I press on, “it isn’t exactly the eighteenth century anymore, brother.”  
  
"Fuck off," he snaps. But he stays at the window until the carriage disappears around the corner, and out of sight .

**SIMON**  
  
It's a quiet morning when I stop by the country estate. I had the carriage continue the journey overnight from London, and I slept surprisingly well in the plush seat.  
  
The butler announces that Baz is out back. This surprises me, since it's early yet in the morning for sport. Maybe he's more serious about riding than he let on. I make my way to the stables, but he isn't there. A quick look around confirms it.  
  
I stand on the edge of the fountain in the courtyard gardens before I catch sight of someone towards the pasture. I recognize at once the line of his shoulders- not to mention his height .   
  
He’s working with the goats, shirtsleeves rolled up and shiny boots caked in mud.  
  
"Good morning!" I call to him as I approach.  
  
"Snow! Good, come make yourself useful," he points towards a large bucket of feed near the gate of the enclosure. I stand with my elbows on the gate for a moment, appreciating the view .  
  
"Give me a mo'- I'm too busy enjoying watching the Duke of Pitch toiling in the mud. I can't believe you'd sink to such lows, my Lord."  
  
He stops and looks over his shoulder. The buttons of his shirtsleeves are open, the cuffs rolled and tucked to his elbows. He looks every inch the farmhand, albeit a very handsome and well-dressed one. "The correct address for a Duke is 'Your Grace,'" he informs me, deadpan.  
  
"Excuse me?" I blink at him.  
  
"I'm serious. In polite company you wouldn't call me 'my Lord.' You'd call me 'Your Grace.'"  
  
"Like hell. You're hardly the Archbishop of Canterbury."  
  
"You asked to be taught how to blend in with the gentry. This is the truth- although those of equal social ranking may address me as 'Duke’ instead."  
  
"These rules are rubbish- and terribly classist. Do you actually believe that there ought to be social rankings that dictate how people are to behave? Are not all men created equal in the eyes of God?"  
  
"I didn't take you for a religious man, Snow." He grins at me and I roll my eyes.   
  
"You don't need to be a man of God to realize that there's something very unfair about this whole thing." I grab the bucket and make my way over to the trough, stopping to pet a couple of the goats as I pass.  
  
I love goats .  
  
"As it happens, I privately agree. There is much about society that I hope changes for the better."  
  
"Meaningless coming from a man of privilege. Your circumstances in life make it easy to champion for change but because society works to your advantage you see no need to advocate for others."  
  
"I wouldn't go that far, Snow. It is possible to be privileged in some circumstances and not in others. It is impossible to speculate on how you'd act with a change in circumstance- I would not be so quick to judge a man for not being in a position to advocate for change despite outward appearances."  
  
"I'll judge you all I want," I tell him hotly. "I have never met a more privileged man, and one so unwilling to come to the aid of others despite his luck in all circumstances."  
  
"In all circumstances? Have you forgotten why we're here ?"  
  
I look around. I don't actually know why we're here, in the pasture, but I don't think that's what he's referring to. "I don't- I don't understand," I concede.  
  
"I am not in the least surprised Snow- the mannerisms and attitudes of modern society seem to escape your notice completely, your mind instead filled with unrealistic egalitarian ideals. Let me tell you plainly. My groundskeeper, the eldest Petty brother, has been arrested and charged as a homosexual. He has fled the country to escape, and has taken his family with him. Hence, this ."  
  
He waves his arms around the pasture. One of the goats rubs against his leg affectionately.  
  
"Why does that matter? That's not-"  
  
I don't understand the turn of conversation. This seems unrelated to our previous banter. I hate feeling as though I'm being left behind.  
  
"It's a crime, Snow. It's against the laws of society and of the church. He is lucky he managed to flee the country, and with those he loves." he says this plainly, staring at me, ankle deep in mud.  
  
I take a deep breath. "I don't understand why you are telling me this." It feels like admitting defeat.  
  
"Because I have been awake since before dawn tending to the grounds, and that is the reason I'm here. And if I'm being direct, it is the same reason I am standing here with you, having this conversation at all."  
  
It takes a moment for me to catch up, but when I do I can feel the flush of shame blooming from my chest, up to my ears, my mouth struggling to catch up with my brain. "I didn't know. Baz, I didn't know. I never would have-"  
  
"Never would have what- threatened and blackmailed me?" He laughs humourlessly. "A man of absolute privilege, lucky in all circumstances. Do you even stop to think before speaking?"  
  
"I release you from our arrangement. It's done. I would never- I wouldn't- I would never ."  
  
He waves me off. For a wild second I imagine that's it, he's going to send me away after all.  
  
"The goats aren't going to feed themselves," he says, ending the conversation and heading towards the barn.  
  
\-----  
  
We're having our evening brandy out on the patio. Mordelia is nowhere to be found, having been excused from participating in my education. It had been a long, tiring afternoon. Formal addresses, the names of important families, current social events and happenings- there was too much to keep in my head. I hope Baz won't be too frustrated when he realizes how little I've retained.  
  
The silence between us now is maddening.   
  
"Just- in relation to our conversation this afternoon. The manner of your inclinations does not bother me." I tell him.  
  
"Doesn't it? It should. Everyone else seems to have an opinion on the topic."  
  
"It is of no consequence to me. In fact, all season long you've had the attentions of Lady Agatha, and now I find myself rather at ease knowing you won't be compromising her anytime soon."  
  
"You would be interested in Lady Agatha. Tell me, have you given a thought to any of her virtues, other than the way she looks?" he says pointedly.  
  
I shake my head. "You misunderstand me. I am in need of a wife before the end of the season. I am interested only in someone with adequate temperament and beauty. I'm sure the rest will come with time.”  
  
“Ah, the tender bloom of blossoming love. How will Lady Agatha be able to resist such romantic overtures ?”

“Fuck off,” I tell him, before looking up at the darkening sky. "I should probably be on my way."  
  
"Are you staying in the village?” he asks.  
  
"Yes, at the Crown and Sceptre.”  
  
"Stay, Snow. We have more than enough room and it would save you the carriage ride here every morning. I’m sure your valet would appreciate the reprieve from constant travel as well.”

“If you’re certain.”

He waves a hand.

The butler shows me to a large room overlooking the gardens and stables. I drag my hand along the finely carved wooden headboard and marvel at the furnishings. I have never stayed in such lavish accommodations before.

The next morning, I push the curtains aside at dawn and set onto the balcony overlooking the gardens. I take a deep breath and enjoy the sunlight on my face- and I try not to smile when I hear Baz swearing vehemently at the geese from somewhere below.  


**BAZ**  
  
"I have written a letter to Lord Kelly and his wife," I begin, grimacing as Snow sits in my favourite armchair. I pour us each a glass of brandy, refusing to notice how the fire in the hearth lights up his face attractively. "Asking if they might be persuaded to allow me to bring you as a personal guest to their private ball. It will take place within the month."  
  
"An excellent opportunity, good thinking."  
  
"All my ideas are good ones," I agree smoothly, "however I have concerns. I wonder whether our plan is too specific by excluding all the other eligible ladies-”  
  
"No, we’ve already discussed this. I must marry Lady Agatha. She's the most beautiful of all the girls this season- I don't see why I should bother courting anyone else.”  
  
I sigh. "I'll freely admit to knowing nothing of love, but I would imagine that marriage should be based on more than just physical appearance.” He bristles. Probably because he knows I’ve made a good point.  
  
"Well if you're so self-righteous, what qualities should your ideal man possess?”  
  
"This is purely an exercise in academics, as I intend to never fall in love. But I would hope, if I did by some chance happen into it, that a man of my own choosing would be above all someone with whom I could speak frankly, and be myself. Someone who would accept me as I am, faults and all. Someone who would be a true partner in both life and love, through both difficult times and good ones.”  
  
"What's the point of being able to speak frankly? Isn't that what friends are for? I find there's much more to discuss among men anyway. I know nothing of women's leisure activities- It seems all they do is read and embroider, lest they are riding or visiting relations. I'll admit to having little interest in all the above.”  
  
I allow myself to laugh, just a little. "According to my sister, Lady Agatha is an accomplished rider and player of the piano forte. I can already imagine you having much to discuss once you're wedded if that's your attitude.”  
  
"I was under the impression that a man has need of a wife for affection and childbearing, and his friends for the rest.”  
  
"I don't see why you, or anyone for that matter, should settle for that. Were I the one looking for marriage I would find someone who encompasses all.”   
  
"I find that notion to be terribly unrealistic." he tells me, grimacing.

I grin. “Perhaps. Although I maintain that it’s equally unrealistic to focus all your attention on the most popular lady of the season when you’re only looking for someone of beauty and adequate temperament.”

“Point made,” he concedes. 

We leave the conversation there, and spend the rest of the evening lost in our thoughts.

\-----  
  
"Sorry!"  
  
"Sorry!"  
  
"Sorry!"

I stop and put my instrument down. "Snow, your incessant whinging is distracting."  
  
He grits his teeth, red in the face. "I'm sorry my struggles are inconveniencing you."  
  
"Maybe if you'd try to take my advice-”  
  
"Maybe if your advice _made sense_ -”  
  
"Maybe if you were capable of following instructions for a _single moment of your life_ -”  
  
Mordelia extracts herself from his grip and frowns at both of us. "Enough, it's exhausting having to play governess to both of you." She stomps her way over to me, before shoving me off my seat. I clutch my violin to my chest before it goes sprawling out of my arms.  
  
"This is an _heirloom_ -"  
  
"Everything we own is a fucking heirloom. Get up and go teach Mr. Snow how to waltz before I smack you with your precious _heirloom_ instrument."  
  
"You wouldn't," I snap at her, but I quickly put it away and slide the case under the settee furthest from her, just to be certain.  
  
Snow eyes me warily as I approach him. He's frowning, hands on his hips and even though his body language should be off-putting, he looks nothing less than inviting with his cuffs rolled up and cheeks flushed.  
  
I falter. I don't trust myself to put my hands anywhere near him.  
  
"Remind me why-" I begin.  
  
"Because Mr. Snow needs to learn to dance and you are a condescending prick and awful teacher- but a surprisingly splendid dancer."  
  
Fuck me, I guess I only have myself to blame.  
  
We stare at each other as Mordelia sits herself at the piano forte and begins a waltz.  
  
I frown even harder.  
  
"I love Strauss," I grumble. I glance over my shoulder, but she avoids my eyes and stares at the sheet music in front of her.  
  
I make her play this for me enough that I know she doesn't need it, the liar.  
  
"Alright," I say, letting out a deep breath and finally looking over at Snow. I wish I hadn't- his eyes are lit up with the sun coming in through the windows and his hair is mussed from constantly looking down at his feet while trying to learn the moves. He's gorgeous. "I'll lead first, so you can see what it's supposed to be like, then we'll switch."  
  
"Why do you get to lead first?" he grumbles, but he steps close and rests one of his hands on my upper arm.  
  
"Because if we started with you, my feet would be beaten to a pulp before we got around to the proper dancing."  
  
He lets out a little gust of air that might be hiding a laugh. Then he looks right up to my face and slides his hand into mine.  
  
I can barely breathe. The skin of his hand is warm and soft in mine.  
  
I'm entranced.  
  
We stand there, chest to chest. His eyes are the bluest blue. 

He clears his throat. "Shouldn't we be dancing?"  
  
Fuck.  
  
"In a moment you oaf, I'm trying to give you a moment to collect yourself. You need to feel the music. Appreciate it."  
  
"Right," he says doubtfully, but closes his eyes anyway, as if to listen more closely.  
  
I start gently, leading him slowly- which means we're not quite in time with the music but I figure it will be easier for him to learn at a slower pace. He's dreadful, looking down at his feet, tripping over my legs, but I can't bring myself to feel the same annoyance I did before, not now when he's in my arms.  
  
I'm absolutely fucked. 

**SIMON**  
  
I find Mordelia in the gardens, poking at a small glistening pile of entrails with a stick.  
  
I glance around, there are no chaperones in the vicinity, and Baz himself had locked me out of his study on pain of death while he composed a _very serious and very important_ letter to his solicitor.  
  
I start backing away from her, hands up.  
  
She glances over and sees me, then starts laughing.  
  
"Oh, enough Mr. Snow. My brother can be old-fashioned but he's not _ancient_. He won't try to fight you for my honour simply for being in my presence."  
  
She throws me a stick.  
  
"Come here and see this. A hawk must have been at it."  
  
"What do you reckon it was?" I ask, crouching down beside her and poking at a mysterious spongy organ.  
  
"This was a bird," she tells me, "see the gizzard?" She uses her stick to show me a spongy glistening organ that looks identical to all the others.  
  
"Don't tell me I need to start studying and dissecting birds," I say half-seriously.   
  
She laughs again and I'm immediately struck at how similar it is to Baz's laugh. But he laughs so seldomly it's a prize, while Mordelia laughs frequently and with ease. I wonder if Baz would laugh more frequently if he were not saddled with responsibility for his entire family and estate.  
  
"Probably not. I have not known that to be among Lady Agatha’s interests.”  
  
"Thank God," I tell her, and she smiles as I abandon my stick.  
  
"Fancy a turn around the gardens?" she asks, standing up and dusting off her skirts. "I know how much you enjoy being out of doors."  
  
"That sounds lovely," I say honestly, offering her my arm. "I hope the rumours caused by my project with your brother won't hurt your chances at courtship," I tell her while she drags me along the path.   
  
"Of course not, my brother has already successfully killed those stone-dead."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"He won't grant any of my suitors the rights of courtship."  
  
"He is overprotective of you." She laughs again.  
  
"No, but he's a romantic. He has often told me that if I can convince him that I ever feel strongly about someone that he would give his permission for courtship immediately.  
  
I’m a little surprised, although I suppose I oughn’t be after our conversation the other night. "I always thought your brother would be more pragmatic than that.”   
  
"He often is, but on matters of the heart he is… stubborn. And surprisingly soft." We stop in front of a bush with large pink flowers. "Perfect, do you have scissors on you?"  
  
I frown and check my pockets- to what end I don't know. I obviously do not carry scissors on my person.  
  
"No matter." I startle and fluster as she pulls a knife out of the side of her walking boot and uses it to start cutting at some of the stems. "Peonies are Basil’s favourite- these will smell lovely in his office, and brighten it up too."  
  
We start making our way back to the house, Mordelia's arms full of flowers. They do smell lovely.  
  
Baz is talking to the butler as we come in.  
  
The look on his face when he sees us together in inscrutable. I am immediately worried we're going to row over propriety, but Mordelia has no such qualms, getting right into his space and dropping an armload of flowers onto him.  
  
"Mr. Snow and I found the remains of a hawk's lunch near the gardens. It was beastly."   
  
"Well then you must have been delighted," he looks down at the flowers. "Thank you."

We adjourn to the dining room for supper.

“I hope your business went well.” I say as we are seated.

He grimaces. “It’s improper to discuss business when ladies are present.”

“Surely you don’t mean to imply there is a lady here presently,” I kick at Mordelia under the table. She sticks her tongue out at me. “Surely no lady would be caught wrists deep in offal.”

“You’re not wrong,” he glances at Mordelia meaningfully, but she’s ignoring him. “As it is, I had a query about selling some of the land on the Eastern border, across the lake, to a rail company. They are interested in building a direct line to London. My solicitor thinks it would be a good idea.”

“How lovely, imagine how easy it would be to travel between here and London.” Mordelia says.

“It would be a terrible idea.” I’ve spoken before I can catch myself.

I wait for Baz to mock me, but he puts down his wineglass and looks over at me instead. His eyes are very very grey.

“Why?” he asks simply, giving me his full attention.

“It’s improper to discuss business with a lady present,” I parrot back to him. This time they both laugh out loud.

“You’ve made your point Snow,” he concedes, “now explain.”

“Well,” I rub the back of my neck. “I have no idea as to the specifics, but Mr. Lwelleyn and I have been working closely with L&MR. These railway projects have the potential to be quite profitable. It is in their interest to move the project forward.”

“Indeed, which is why I intend to sell the land.”

“Do not sell it. Selling the land means giving up mineral rights, oftentimes this can be more valuable than the land deed itself. I would advise you to lease the land to the company, and to retain the rights to it.”

“Why would they agree to that? Shouldn’t it be wise to ask for a percentage of profits with the deed of sale?”

“No, because accounting can make it such that a single line is not profitable, while the whole company grows and grows its profits. I’m telling you plainly, I have experience with these kinds of deals. Allow them to lease your land, and make the terms and rate completely separate from the profits.”

He frowns, but at least he looks like he’s considering it.

“I wouldn’t want to lose the opportunity. What stops them from turning to the neighbours and purchasing that land instead?”

I answer him honestly. “Sometimes nothing. It’s hard to say without seeing the land and property line.”

We’re close to losing the light, but after supper we make our way towards the eastern edge of the estate. Baz is carrying a little basket, and as we walk he points out things on the property.

I can’t imagine growing up someplace like here. How perfect it would have been.

We walk up and down the edge of the property together, Baz answering my questions and pointing out the rough approximation of land he would lease. It’s enormous, although a relatively insignificant portion of the entire property.

“What of the rest of the land,” I ask, as I survey the landscape, “what is the annual yield of profits for the estate? I would be interested in knowing how much land is required to turn profits presently and how those profits are generated. If your estate is generally agricultural you might require more land in the future to continue turning profits in the current economic climate.”

“The estate has always been agricultural,” he admits, slipping his hands into his pockets, “my father did not believe in investing in industry. He believed that livestock and crops would always be enough to generate profit.”

“But you disagree?”

“I certainly do. Scant fifty years ago we did not have men like you- men were born with their fortunes or lived without them. I have been alive long enough to see that investment in industry is capable of making vast amounts of money for those who would have not had the opportunity before.”

“And what of your solicitor?”

“My father’s former solicitor. I’ll admit, he is not familiar with investing outside of agriculture and farming.”

I hum in accordance.

“I would wait before selling or leasing the land. Your neighbour’s estate has more uneven topography along this side- it would cost the railway more to buy from them considering they’d have to flatten the land for the tracks. This should deter them enough to give you time to hire a geologist to examine the property for mineral deposits.”

“What good is a mineral deposit if a train is travelling over it?”

“You’d sign a contract to begin construction only after any valuable mineral deposits are mined. Then you could profit off the land twice.”

“My solicitor thinks we have taken enough time to make a decision.”

“That is because he is out of his depth. You would be a fool to sign away your land without first knowing what you were selling.”

“Sound advice.” he sounds impressed. 

“Thank you.” My stomach growls loudly.

“Here,” Baz opens the basket he’s been carrying and hands me a sandwich. “I pulled you away from the table before desserts were served. I assumed your ravenous appetite would not be pleased with this unbearable hardship.” 

“You thought right, thank you.”

We walk back to the house leisurely, occasionally breaking the silence, but content to be left to our own thoughts.

By the time we return, Mordelia has already gone to bed.

“Join me in the study,” Baz asks, before asking the butler to bring another plate of sandwiches. “You can look over my ledgers and advise me as to the next step.”

His ledgers are complex and enormous, but surprisingly well organized. I have had more difficult work in my life, and as such it’s almost soothing to go through the estate’s profits and expenses.

Baz falls asleep in the chaise in front of the fire and I consider waking him, but his records are so well organized and annotated I hardly need him to answer questions.

It’s only his company I miss in the silence of the room. 

The deal seems to be in order I think, eating the last of the sandwiches as I flip one last time through the ledger, careful not to miss anything.

A blank space catches my attention.

A £500 expense without a description, dated only last week. I flip back through the ledger and- yes, another £500 expense in the previous month, again without a description. I turn the pages until I am certain that this expense occurs monthly, and always without description.

£500 is not a lot of money to a man like Baz, but a monthly expense adds up.

I turn and look at him, frowning. It’s an intrusion to ask about his financial affairs, but he asked me to look over his ledgers. Perhaps it’s an expense that could be reduced somehow? I won’t be certain unless I ask.

“Baz,” I shake his shoulder gently.

“S’mon,” he stirs, before blinking up at me sleepily. The firelight makes his eyes glow and throws the lines of his face into stark relief.

“Everything seems to be in order,” I tell him as he stretches and yawns, “your ledgers are well organized, although I’d expect no less from you. However, I must ask what’s this monthly expense of £500? You’ve neglected to include a description- perhaps an expense for the running of the estate?” 

Baz sits up and leans over, drawing the ledger across the space on the desk and moving my finger aside.

“Ah-,” there’s a sneer twisting his mouth, once soft with sleep. “Mordelia. She’s taken to playing cards and amasses quite the debt. I’ve forbidden her from gambling, of course, but if anyone has discovered how to convince young ladies to follow orders, they have yet to inform me.”

“Fuck me. She must be awful-”

He waves his hand, getting up. “No matter. I will speak to her- perhaps put her on a reduced allowance. It will not continue. Other than that-”

I close the book, sliding it back into the desk drawer, “your estate still turns a profit, although less so than it did five years ago. It can still manage to turn a profit without the edge of the estate under consideration by the railway company. However, I would still advise you to look into having the area surveyed by a geologist before selling.”

“Thank you, Mr. Snow. Your advice has been invaluable.”

“It’s a pleasure. I never once thought I’d have the chance to do business with you. If I had told myself this a scant few months ago, I’d never have believed myself.”

He says nothing, but gives me a look I don’t understand. Understanding that our evening has come to an end, I bid him goodnight and make my way up the marble staircase to my waiting bed.

\-----

I turn over in bed, letting myself get comfortable. The watery morning light flickers behind my eyelids, and I consider letting myself go back to sleep for a little while…

The door to the room slams open and I jump, tugging the covers up to my chest.

“Mr. Snow!” Mordelia says, hurrying into the room and throwing open the curtains. My valet follows her in, looking confused and embarrassed. “Get yourself up. Basil says we are to head to London to prepare for Lord Kelly’s ball!”  
  
I blink at her, but she’s gone before I’m awake enough to make sense of this encounter. I bathe and dress quickly, hoping to speak to Baz with haste.

I run into him on the landing outside my door. He’s carrying a novel, a pair of spectacles perched on his long nose.

“Ah, Mr. Snow,” he acknowledges, removing the spectacles and dropping them into his pocket. I’m surprised for a moment- I didn’t know he needed them. He’s an intimidating looking man- but they offered something else, an intimate side to him that I’d guess few have been fortunate enough to see. 

I shake my head a little. “Your sister said we’re heading to London?”

“Only until after the ball later this week. We have some errands first.”

“Such as?”

“Showing you off in polite society, for one. Also, we desperately need to replace your clothing.”

“What’s wrong with my clothing?” I ask, tugging at my jacket. “My tailor told me this style is very popular in France-”

“We don’t live in France.” he says, “and the ladies aren’t paying attention to men’s fashion, let alone foreign fashion. You’ll be thought much more handsome if we dress you in the proper English style.”

We’re packed and crowded into the carriage by midday.

Mordelia and I play cards while Baz takes his novel back out. Mordelia wins every single hand. 

The journey takes most of the day. I was expecting to be dropped off at my own townhouse, but instead Baz ushers me into his private terrace, showing me to another lavish room before we adjourn for a quick supper.

The bustle of London is familiar, although jarring after all my time in the country. It’s strange that home can feel so unwelcome after such a short period of time. I spend most of the night tossing and turning in the cool silk sheets, until I finally fall into a restless sleep.

  
**BAZ**

Snow whinges as I drag him to my tailor first thing after breakfast. 

“Why can’t you just come with me to Mr. Rousseau’s shop,” he says, “he always gives me a discount!”

I turn around and admonish him, finger waving and all. “Mr. Rousseau is doing you a disservice by dressing you in poor styles and colours. Of course he gives you a discount because it would be a crime for you to pay full price for the load of rubbish he’s been selling you.”

“I like my clothes,” he grumbles.

“You shouldn’t, no one does. Mordelia does not, I do not, and your future wife most assuredly does not,” I tell him honestly as we enter my tailor’s shop. It’s empty, as previously arranged- there is nothing that spoils a perfectly good shopping trip like having to socialize with others. 

“You don’t like my clothes?” he asks, looking at me as the tailor’s assistant comes out to greet us.

“Mr. Snow, if I liked your clothes we wouldn’t be here with the express intent of buying you new ones.” 

It’s a special kind of torture, standing in the shop while Snow is measured and fitted for a proper wardrobe. Mordelia was right of course, Snow is a handsome man. Broad shouldered and sturdy- muscles toned from whatever menial labour he worked previously before getting into business.

It’s been both a shame and a blessing (in particular for me) that he’s been hiding it all underneath awful clothing.

But it won’t help him find a wife.

I tear my eyes away from the muscles in his shoulders as the assistant takes another measurement and clear my throat, instead going over and inspecting the fabrics Mr. Porter has laid out for our approval. Blue, blue, blue. Snow has plain but rather lovely blue eyes, although blue is not what I would choose to dress him in, given the opportunity.

(A dangerous thought- Snow is only mine temporarily, and reluctantly at that. With the sole purpose of making him into a gentleman worthy of a wife. It won’t do to fantasize about how much better he’d look in grey. Or tangled up in the white of my bedsheets. )

“Baz,” I turn around before I remember our present company and give him a look. “Erm. I meant- My Lord, Your Grace.” 

He’s hopeless.

I raise a brow at him.

“I don’t- I mean to say- which colours do you prefer? You’re a much better dresser than I. I don’t trust myself to choose something suitable for the ball.”

“That’s the smartest observation you’ve made all day,” I agree with him smoothly. He frowns but doesn’t fight it. I take a few steps towards him, considering.

It’s an indulgence when I decide to hell to it all and ask the assistant to fetch us something other than blue. I know it’s the one the moment I see it- a soft, buttery grey. It’s beautiful enough not to draw too much attention while still managing to stand out.

I’m so caught up in my admiration, rubbing the fabric between my fingers, that I don’t realize how close Snow is until I feel the warmth of him pressed up against my side.

“You sure that’s the one?” he asks, leaning down towards my hand to examine the fabric. I can feel his breath on my fingers.

It’s unbearably intimate. 

“Yes,” I manage to choke out, dropping the fabric as he straightens up and motions towards Mr. Porter. 

“Wait,” he says, “I have no idea what we’re ordering.”

I sigh.

“A new wardrobe, in its entirety.” I tell Mr. Porter, “shirtsleeves, cravats, frock coats, waist coats, trousers- the lot.” I nod towards the grey fabric, “And a double-breasted dress coat in this fabric. We’ll need an accompanying cravat and formal trousers as well. Perhaps in a darker shade.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“Have pieces sent to my terrace as they are completed. We find ourselves on a deadline.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Snow makes a face as he pays, but says nothing, which pleases me. It’s an investment, after all. 

“Alright, now that’s done-”

“Done? Mr. Snow, we’ve barely begun.” His eyes widen and he grimaces as I start leading him further down the high road, “presently we’ve an appointment with my haberdasher, and then we are to meet Mordelia for lunch, before riding through the park.”

I pretend not to hear his anguished sighs as he follows me down the street.  


**SIMON**

The day is endless.

We spend an eternity at the haberdasher, examining a row of identical gloves and cravat pins. Each time I attempt to select one Baz informs me that I’ve made a terrible choice. Instead I give him the responsibility of selecting appropriate ones for me, which he does with barely contained pleasure .

Lunch is another mortifying ordeal. We collect Mordelia and head back into town, where we dine at a terrible restaurant. The food itself is unremarkable, but the size of the dishes leaves much to be desired. Baz gives me a look when I inquire whether there’s someplace nearby that offers sandwiches, so instead I sit quietly and eat the morsels I’m served. 

It’s crowded at this hour, and many squint over at our table, scrutinizing us. It makes me nervous, and twice I drop my fork. Baz murmurs to the server, who reappears at once with a replacement. “Don’t lose this one this time,” Baz tells me sternly, sliding it over to me, but the edge of his mouth lifts. I take it from him, our fingertips momentarily brushing.

I go back to my disappointing meal, fingers tingling from the unexpected contact. 

After lunch we go wait at the house until the open-air carriage is prepared for our journey to the park.

“We’ve had plenty of fresh air,” I complain to Mordelia as she fusses over her gloves, “I hardly see the importance.”

“The park is the place to be seen,” she tells me. “Basil is hoping to announce your friendship to others, in hopes of having you invited alongside us to society functions.”

I make a face. “Could we not do with public balls?”

Baz steps up beside me, in another (another!) new jacket. The amount of clothing he must own is ridiculous. “No Snow, we couldn’t. The rules are much different between private and public balls, and for our purposes it will be much easier for us to secure you an introduction to Lady Agatha at a private function. Now get in the in fucking carriage, and for heaven’s sake- look like you’re having a good time.” 

I don’t need to pretend. I much prefer riding in a carriage to riding horseback, and it’s infinitely more interesting to ride around the park with Baz and Mordelia, who run commentary on the other society members in the park. I learn which members of the ton are seriously in debt, which ones are attempting to outrun scandal, and which ones are here with the intention of attempting to climb the social ladder.

We stop frequently to greet others and even to make conversation, Baz introducing me as a business partner and friend. Men shake my hand, a couple of ladies look my way twice.

It’s a nice end to a long day. We ride back to the terrace, my hopes high with the promise of dinner.

A card is delivered to the house as we return, addressed to Baz.

The face Baz makes when he reads it is beyond description. He locks himself in his study, refusing to dress and join us for supper. Mordelia has the housekeeper leave a tray with his favourite treats outside the door, but by the time we retire to bed the tray is still there, untouched.

“He gets like this,” she tells me as I escort her up the enormous marble staircase to her room. “He’s been in such a mood recently. I’ll admit, at first I was concerned that your acquaintance would give him further worries, but I think it’s been good for his mood. It’s been a good distraction from whatever plagues him so.”

“Has he ever spoken to you about it?” I can’t help but ask.

“Of course not. Basil has never been the type to speak freely. Neither was our father. If anything is the matter, he keeps it to himself- solves all his problems that way too.”

We’ve reached her door.

“See if he’ll open up to you, maybe. He’s very fond of you. We both are, in fact- you’ve been such a comfort to us this past month. ”

I feel myself flushing, “I hate to disagree with you, but-”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s been hard for us both- but especially for him. Running the estate and fretting over finding me a suitable match- not to mention his attempts to modernize and build investment opportunities. I have no idea what brought the two of you together, but I am grateful every day for whatever brought you into our lives.”

A new depth of shame burns through me as I remember my first encounter with Baz outside the restaurant. 

Mordelia seems unaware of my inner turmoil, pecking me on the cheek before slipping into her room, leaving me alone with the weight of my own shame on the landing.

I’m about to go to bed and wallow when I hear a door downstairs creak open. I creep to the bannister and see the door to the study open, light from the fireplace cutting a swathe through the dark.

Baz stands near the front door, looking around as if afraid to be caught. There’s an envelope in his hand. Surely, he doesn’t mean to deliver it himself, and in the middle of the night no less?

He opens and closes the door behind him silently. I’m trying to decide whether to follow him when he reenters the house abruptly. 

His hands are empty.

The door to his study closes softly, and once again the house is thrown into darkness.

I creep down the stairs, and out the front door. It’s dark, which makes it difficult to see. I walk down the front steps and look up and down the street. No signs of a messenger in either direction. Baz had barely been outside at all, surely if he was handing the envelope to someone, they’d still be visible from the front door.

I’m puzzled as I turn around and head back into the house. A soft crunching noise grabs my attention- I’m standing on the envelope. The month is written across the front in Baz’s familiar tidy hand.

I look around, confirming I’m truly alone, before I pick it up and open it.

There’s £500 inside. 

\-----

The week drags on.

Everything we do is to flaunt our position in society- or rather Baz and Mordelia’s. I trail after them like the project I am.

We eat at restaurants, ride endlessly through the park during the social hour, receive guests in the terrace’s parlour. Baz even brings me to his club, where we discuss investment opportunities with a couple other members. The whole thing seems rather elitist and pointless until tea is served- there’s so many cakes and pastries that Baz needs to physically restrain me from mauling the spread- only giving up once our company takes their leave. 

“I finally understand the appeal,” I tell Baz as we make our way back to his terrace, my pockets filled with pastries wrapped in our handkerchiefs, “I must pursue an invitation to become a member of your club at once.”

He scoffs. “The club is intended for like minded gentlemen to socialize and escape their responsibilities for a time. Only you would be so crass as to treat it like a never-ending buffet.”

“Your sour attitude is noted, and I choose to ignore it. You might rank intellectual stimulation and camaraderie as the basest of your needs, but going to bed hungry has done nothing but teach me that life’s most basic necessity is also its greatest pleasure. ”

The next morning Baz sits at the table in the breakfast salon nearly hidden behind an enormous pile of assorted pastries and scones. As I work my way through the pile, he becomes increasingly visible, and I catch him trying to hide a grin behind the morning paper. 

The morning of the ball dawns bright and clear. It’s also the only day of reprieve I’ve had since we’ve been in town. Baz has managed to secure an invitation for me, and we spend the morning going through my new wardrobe for the appropriate accessories and going over details of what to expect during the dancing and the late night supper that is to follow.

I’ve never been so nervous about something involving food before. 

Baz excuses himself to prepare before even Mordelia.

“God forbid he manages to choose an outfit in less than two hours,” Mordelia remarks, as we play cards in front of the hearth.

“Shall we set a wager, my Lady?” I ask her, after losing another hand spectacularly.

“Oh goodness Mr. Snow. Don’t be so cruel to yourself,” she admonishes. “If you wish me to relieve you of your fortune there are ways to achieve that without such damage to your self regard.”

“I assumed you must be rather fond of gambling, considering your accomplishment with cards.”

She laughs. “Hardly. One does not keep friends by keeping a hand in their coin purses. Besides, it’s unbecoming of a lady, which hardly seems to matter, but it would reflect poorly on my brother if nothing else.” The clock chimes and we both look up. “Forgive me,” she says, gathering up the cards, “I must go prepare. I’ll see you shortly.”

It takes longer than expected to dress. My valet is unfamiliar with the new clothing, and although Baz and I had carefully chosen appropriate accessories, my cravat pin has somehow gone missing. I don’t dare attempt to substitute the approved pin for another (practically identical) one, however. I figure Baz would not appreciate the added stress this would cause him.

I don’t know how long it takes my valet to find the pin, but by the time I’m dressed and properly coiffed I’m still the first of us waiting in the entrance hall. I fidget as I wait, alternating between looking out the window and attempting to remember how Baz and Lord Kelly are related.

(Although, now that I’ve thought about it, I’m not entirely sure they are.)

I’m frowning at the carriage through the window and trying to remember when a sound makes me turn around.  
  
"Snow," Baz comes down the marble staircase, adjusting his jacket as he does.  
  
For a second I can't move. He looks every inch the gentleman, dressed fine in midnight blue. The tailor must have been driven to madness over his body, because everything fits him perfectly- highlighting the ideal physique underneath.   
  
No living, breathing woman at this ball is going to glance my way after seeing him.  
  
(I am so lucky he doesn't fancy women. How could I ever compete? In fact, I almost feel sorry for them.)  
  
I square my shoulders and open my arms as he comes near, eyes already inspecting the tailor's work. "How do I look?" I ask him, as he adjusts my cravat and fusses over my cuffs.  
  
He frowns. "Adequate," he states, before thumbing at the lapel of my waistcoat. "Although you seem to be missing something here," I glance at his lapel and see a spray of little blue flowers.  
  
"Those don't look like what Mordelia picked for you the other morning."  
  
"They are not," he assures me before heading out towards the patio and gardens. I have no idea whether he wants me to follow him. I fidget in the entrance hall, craning my neck to try and see if he's coming back.  
  
He comes back a short while later with a pin and cheery yellow flower. He pins it to my lapel before grinning wryly, probably because he doesn't realize I'm looking right at him.  
  
"It doesn't match yours ," I note, looking down and poking at one of the delicate petals. He glances back at me as he accepts our hats from his valet.  
  
"Of course not, Snow."  
  
I open my mouth, but then Mordelia is running down the stairs, full of apologies at making us late. I offer her my arm and she beams, before tugging me from the entrance hall and down towards the waiting carriage.  
  
  
**BAZ**

I’ve a headache and the night has barely begun.

I am torn between excitement and anxiety at having Snow by my side. Excitement at showing him off. (He’s handsome. He’s always been handsome, but the new clothing highlights his best features- those broad shoulders and strong arms. His hair has somehow managed to become slightly dishevelled between my terrace and the Kelly’s, but the effect is more roguish and charming than anything else. In fact, it makes me feel more at ease, to see a part of Snow that is so genuinely himself despite my efforts to tame him. ) I am, however, anxious about policing his manners. He’s openly eager and enthusiastic to be here among such company, and I can’t help but be afraid that this will cause him to forget what Mordelia and I have been teaching him these past weeks. 

I spot Lady Agatha almost immediately, in the center of the ballroom, surrounded by her mother and a group of gentlemen. No wonder Snow sought me out for this ridiculous escapade, he could hardly have hoped to succeed alone. 

I pull Snow into an alcove and set to work immediately.

“Baz- what?”

“Hush, Snow. Keep your voice down. Your lady is already at work filling her dance card. We will have to go over and secure an introduction for you immediately.” I fix his hair (a shame, but it is not my opinion on the matter that carries weight), straighten his cravat, and smooth out some of the creases in his jacket left from the carriage ride. It’s torture, being alone together like this. The alcove is small, and we are tucked together closer than propriety would dictate. It’s positively intimate- or rather it would be were the purpose for our own privacy rather than preparing to introduce him to a lady. 

He’s nervous, fidgety beneath my hands. 

“I’m not- I don’t think that-”

“Don’t tell me you’ve lost your nerve,” I say, drawing myself up to my full height to look down on him. He grits his teeth and sticks his chin out- a familiar pose, he often arranges himself thus when we argue- before scowling at me.

“Just- give me a second okay?”

“At your leisure,” I sneer at him. Indeed, he’s going to miss his opportunity if we don’t act quickly. My frustration melts away into something tight and soft when I notice his genuine distress. “Snow,” I start, hesitantly gripping his shoulder, “you’ve never struck me as the kind of man who is accused of overthinking.”

“Fuck off, Baz.”

“I meant that in the most flattering of ways, of course.” I sigh. I want to tell him it’s fine, that we’ll make our apologies and leave- head back to the country estate even. Keep him all to myself for just that much longer. But that would be selfish, and a disservice to him. He needs me to push him right now- and as reluctant as I am- I gave him my word. “What I meant to say, rather, was that your strength comes from your ability to navigate situations as they develop. Play to your strengths. I will secure you an introduction and we go from there.” 

He’s silent, but then he takes a deep breath and nods. I drop my arm.

“Follow me,” I tell him as we made our way back to the ballroom. 

“Lady Agatha is _that way_ ,” he hisses over my shoulder. 

“Just so,” I ignore him. I know who I’m looking for. “Stay back a moment,” I order as I spot him.

“Wellbelove,” I finally catch up to the old man, shaking his hand. 

“Duke, what a pleasant surprise. I can hardly remember the last time we had the pleasure of your company at a ball.”

“Believe me, it won’t become a habit.”

“Nonsense! A little distraction could be exactly what you need. The season can feel very long and dull indeed when one is alone.”

I nod distractedly, glancing around. I catch Lady Wellbelove dragging her daughter across the room towards me at once. Although this was the outcome I’d hoped for, the whole scene is decidedly not to my taste. Luckily, Lady Wellbelove walks quickly. If Wellbelove is embarrassed by his wife’s desperate attempt at a match, he doesn’t show it. "You are of course acquainted with my daughter, Lady Agatha, are you not?"  
  
"I have indeed had the pleasure of her acquaintance," I bow and take her hand, "how is your dance card coming along, Lady Agatha?"  
  
She smiles and pulls it out. "Quite well Your Grace, although I find myself with a dance yet unclaimed." She eyes me eagerly. I take a look at her card, where there's a little blank spot next to the cotillion. 

Perfect.  
  
"Wonderful. Have you been acquainted with my colleague, Mr. Snow?" I gesture towards him and he (thankfully) comes forward to join us without doing anything embarrassing.   
  
"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Snow." She grimaces while she says it, but Snow's smile and response is completely genuine.  
  
"My sister has done Mr. Snow a terrible disservice by finding herself rather ill. She has begged me to accompany her to the gardens for fresh air, but she would hate to inconvenience Mr. Snow, who is an avid dancer."  
  
"How awful, I hope she recovers quickly."  
  
"I'm sure she will, however it would put her mind at ease if she knew Mr. Snow did not have to sit out the cotillion. She would be ever so grateful if you were to do him the honour."  
  
"I- Of course. Yes. It would be my pleasure." I smile at her, and don't leave until she's filled Snow's name in on her dance card.   
  
  
SIMON  
  
I might have been too enthusiastic, I decide when Lady Agatha tells me right after our dance that she's feeling a little light-headed. Honestly it hadn't been difficult to remember the steps Baz taught me, moving with Agatha across the dance floor the same way I did with him during our lessons. It had felt just different enough though that it had required more concentration than I'd expected, and I hadn't been able to pay any attention beyond the basic movements, much less charm her with any of the conversational topics Baz, Mordelia, and I had carefully chosen.  
  
"Can I escort you to the gardens?" I ask, because I feel like it's only proper. Isn't that what Baz had said when he'd lied about Mordelia's illness?  
  
"Yes, please."  
  
The patio is crammed with people, and soon Agatha's mother joins a small group of women, keeping an eye on us from afar.  
  
We walk quietly to a bench near a row of hedges, and I help her down.  
  
She's even more beautiful out here in waning daylight.  
  
"So, how is it you know the Duke?" she asks, folding her hands in her lap.  
  
"Uhm, we do business together." It's not a lie.  
  
"I see him occasionally at these events, but he does not often make conversation or socialise beyond his insular circle," she confides, "I'll admit I was surprised when I heard he brought you as a personal guest."  
  
"The Duke is a private man, but not an altogether cold one. I believe his standoffishness comes more from his desire for privacy than anything."  
  
"What he needs is a wife to help him come out of his shell. It's a wonder to all that he is still unmarried."  
  
"Ah- I believe he is preoccupied with finding an appropriate match for his sister. He is quite protective of her. Once she's settled down, I'm sure he'll turn his mind towards himself."  
  
"What strength of character, putting others before himself."  
  
"Just so."  
  
"Forgive me, but your closeness makes me wonder, are you hoping to court Lady Mordelia?"  
  
I laugh before I can stop myself.  
  
"Sorry, I just meant that I have come to be well acquainted with Lady Mordelia and while she is a wonderful woman I have no interest in courting her, and I know she is relieved by this. I feel as though knowing her has taught me what it may be like to have a sister."  
  
The look she gives me is wistful. "I often wished for a sister when I was younger."  
  
"I have often felt the same. I would have loved to have a sibling. It would have been wonderful to not feel so alone." She looks at me, frowning. I wonder what I've done to offend her. "As it was, I never quite fit in with the other boys growing up- and I find that sentiment has followed me to adulthood. I've never felt quite like I fit in anywhere. I feel as though that lack of family might be what I am missing as I get older."  
  
She makes a little smile at me, but it falls flat. I probably shouldn’t be unloading this all on her. What must she think of me?  
  
The people on the patio start drifting off into the house.  
  
"Shall we?" I ask, getting up and offering her my arm. "I would be remiss if I didn't return you in time for the next song- you are an accomplished dancer."  
  
She takes my arm slowly and we make our way back into the house silently. I think of other things I could say, but I can't help but feel like I've had my shot. Once we reach the ballroom I turn and bow, thinking of something to say to let her know how much I truly enjoyed being able to spend a little time this evening with her.  
  
"Here," I say, unpinning the flower from my lapel. "Please take this small token as an expression of how much I've enjoyed your company this evening."  
  
"Oh, thank you. But the next dance-?"  
  
"I have seen how full your dance card is. I wouldn't dream of depriving someone else the pleasure of your companionship."  
  
"Oh, well then. Good evening to you, Mr. Snow."  
  
"It's been a pleasure, Lady Agatha." And I leave her there in the crowd, hoping to find Mordelia and Baz so we can dissect the entire encounter.

I find them back in the ballroom, Mordelia speaking to a couple of ladies I recognize as last season’s wallflowers, and Baz making conversation with a man I don’t recognize. I decide to join the conversation, hoping Baz won’t be too cold when he’s forced to correct my manners.

“Your Grace,” I say, walking up. 

“Ah, Mr. Snow. Might I introduce you to my cousin, Lord Devon Grimm.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, My Lord,” I tell the other man, shaking his hand.

If Mr. Lwelleyn could see my present company he’d be pleased indeed.

It isn’t long until Lord Grimm makes his apologies and disappears into the crowd, leaving Baz and I alone. I’m aware of the many gazes we seem to attract, although we are doing nothing.

Baz gestures towards where Mordelia is sitting, “do you recognize the lady in blue?” he asks me. I look over my shoulder, before frowning.

“I do not, another relative of yours?” I ask.

He laughs. “No. That is the Lady Philippa Stainton, youngest daughter of the Marquess. If you hadn’t been so fixated on Lady Agatha, I would have suggested her as an ideal match.”

“Really?” I ask, wrinkling my nose. 

“Really,” Baz says, “this is her third season, same as Lady Agatha, however she is not fortunate enough to be her equal in beauty. Mordelia adores her so, and has confided that her parents are eager to have her married.”

I glance over at the corner with the wallflowers and feel a twinge of sadness for them. It’s obvious they have all chosen their gowns and jewels with care, and yet find themselves without partners. It must be difficult to be a woman in such circumstances.

“Anyhow, you should be asking her to dance,” Baz continues, “Mordelia says she’s quite proficient.”

“Why don’t you ask her to dance if you feel so bad for her,” I snap at him, irritated.

“You misunderstand me. Lady Philippa is Lady Agatha’s former roommate from finishing school. Word is they never quite got along. Dancing with Lady Philippa may make Lady Agatha jealous enough to hold her interest. It doesn’t do to look too eager in pursuit of a single lady, despite your actual intentions. Make Lady Agatha believe she must act with haste to secure your attentions.” 

And then he nudges me towards the wallflowers.

I’m embarrassed the closer to them I get. It doesn’t help that their conversation amongst each other ceases immediately upon my approach.

I bow, and try to remember my manners. “Lady Philippa. I would be honoured if you’d join me for the next dance.” Her eyes light up, and I feel almost ashamed at my initial reluctance.

Lady Philippa is a splendid dancer. So splendid in fact, that she makes me look almost competent leading her across the floor. When I return her to her friends, I ask another wallflower to dance, and then another. I pretend not to notice Mordelia smirking at me from her seat as her friends queue closer, hoping for a dance.

“Mr. Snow, how is it that you can ask every lady present other than myself to dance.”

I look at her in confusion. “Mordelia, you hate dancing with me.”

Immediately several of the ladies share furtive looks and I know I’ve made a mistake. 

“Mr. Snow loves a good joke,” Mordelia announces to the gathered ladies. “He speaks often, and with impertinence. At first, I didn’t know what to make of his attitude, but he’s been a close companion and confidante to my brother. Truly, now his teasing is almost as bad as Basil’s!” 

“How unfortunate,” Philippa states, “to have to suffer the indignation of two older brothers despite being cursed with only one.”

Mordelia smiles, and drags me towards the dance floor, “Philippa, you speak as my truest friend. Pray for me.”

I breathe a sigh of relief when the next song begins- it’s a waltz. Immediately Mordelia pulls me closer than the dance requires. I push her away, looking around wildly. Fuck, Baz is going to skin me alive.

“Enough, Mr. Snow,” Mordelia hisses at me, “Lady Agatha is watching. Act like you’re enjoying yourself.” This time when she pulls me close, I don’t push her away.

“I already told her I wasn’t intending to court you,” I admit. Mordelia throws her head back and laughs, which almost makes me stumble in surprise.

“Sorry,” she says, “but for fuck’s sake, try smiling a little. It doesn’t matter what you’ve said, Lady Agatha is accustomed to being pursued. Last season she had five suitors, each richer and more handsome than the last. If you wish to hold her attention, you need to convince her that you’re desirable.”

“But I’m not-”

“Nonsense. You have a good disposition and a good heart. Not to mention a relative fortune. Plus, your friendship with my brother speaks highly of your character. Now act like it.”

“My lady-”

“Don’t you ‘my lady’ me. You’ve done well so far, all my friends are practically swooning over having the opportunity to dance with you. Now convince Lady Agatha she should be doing the same.” 

The rest of the dance is a blur, my feet following steps as I try to listen to Mordelia’s hissed instructions. I try to relax, but it’s impossible. I lean my cheek against the top of her head at her insistence, but it feels wrong, strange, to be dancing so intimately with someone so much shorter than I. 

(I wonder if that’s how Baz felt when we were dancing together during my lessons. Whether he wished I were someone else, just as I wish Mordelia were in this very moment.)

It feels nothing like dancing with Baz did. Despite their many similarities they’re still quite different, Mordelia forceful in a way that makes me feel like a prize dog being led through a series of tricks. Instead I try to remember the feeling of Baz in my arms, how graceful he was, how waltzing with him felt much more like dancing, like something people would do for fun or pleasure. 

There’s no fun in what I’m doing now. I’m relieved when the song ends, and I return Mordelia to her friends.

I see Baz across the room. He gives me an amused look as I approach, which somewhat soothes my fears of an imminent beheading.

“Enjoy yourself?” he asks archly.

“No,” I tell him honestly, grimacing. “I think I know why your sister is yet unmarried. No man alive could survive jumping through her hoops on command.”

“Tell me about it,” he says.

“I’ve never been put through such paces. I admit, I much preferred dancing with you.” His expression doesn’t change in the slightest, but I notice that he goes very very still. “I only meant- you weren’t constantly nagging me to smile, and you almost never laugh, let alone directly in my ear.”

“I aim to please,” he tells me seriously, before smiling. “That was kind of you to dance with the wallflowers. Some of them looked quite happy.”

“Well no one else was going to do it.” I tell him knowingly, giving him a meaningful look. He shakes his head.

“It would be an unkindness to ask any of these ladies to dance. I wouldn’t want any of them to assume I’m looking for a match. Better to be upfront and keep to myself.” 

“It’s a _ball_ , Baz.”

He lets out a breath that might be a laugh before our attention is caught by the dinner bell.

“Will you be able to manage?” he asks seriously. I frown at him. “We are to be separated at dinner, as seating is determined by rank.”

“Of course it is,” I mutter.

“I could always mention to our host-” I wave him off.

“It will hardly be necessary. I’ve been feeding myself for enough years now that I’ve got the basics covered.”

“I’d have much more faith in that assertion had I not watched the carnage that accompanied your breakfast this morning,” he says. I know him well enough now to understand that this is a joke between friends rather than a true reprimand. It’s a pity his countenance gives him the appearance of being cold- although sardonic and dry, his sense of humour is not lacking.

I squeeze his elbow and hang back as the hosts begin seating their guests. 

I am surprised to be seated next to Lady Philippa.

“I hear you are an avid fencer,” she says as soon as I sit down. I’ll admit, it’s rather flattering to have someone be curious in my interests for a change. 

The conversation around us dies as Lady Agatha stands up. Immediately several gentlemen around the table get to their feet.

“Forgive me, I need some fresh air.” She announces to the room. I continue my meal. “Mr. Snow,” I look up at her, my mouth full. “Would you be so kind as to escort my mother down the steps into the garden?” I swallow, and leave my food with reluctance. 

Everyone is watching us as we leave the dining room.

I help Lady Wellbelove down the steps into the garden, and help her onto a bench. Lady Agatha waits until her mother is comfortable before telling me she’d like to sit on the edge of the fountain.

“I quite like to ride,” she tells me as we sit. “Do you?”

“Oh. I- I admit I do not have the opportunity to ride as much as I would like.”

She nods. It’s not a lie, really- I would like to never have to ride, but that is hardly possible.

“When I was growing up- before we moved to London permanently, we had a jumping course on our country estate that I was very fond of. I should like to have a course of my own again, someday.” She looks at me pointedly. I nod. Then she smiles. “Do you hunt?”

“Occasionally. However I prefer fencing, when it comes to sport.” She makes a face. “Opportunities to hunt have been far and few between, while I work to establish my name and business,” I tell her quickly. “I look forward to having more opportunities for sport in the future.”

I’ve never been so tired by a conversation. Every single one of my responses comes with difficulty, both in thinking them up and in their expression. Is this how courtship and marriage is to be? It seems a chore.

I’m relieved when Lady Wellbelove remarks that she wants to get back to dinner. As it happens, I heartily agree. By the time I escort her and Lady Agatha back to the dining room, the puddings are being cleared away.

I’ve never been so heartbroken in my life. 

  
**BAZ**  
  
When the Wellbeloves come by to bid us goodnight, there is a daffodil tucked into the band of Lady Agatha’s hat. I realize that it was nothing more than a clumsy attempt at flattery on Snow’s part, but it hurts all the same. 

He’s been morose since supper.

On our way out to the carriage a footman stops us. “Your Grace,” he says, offering the package I’d requested. I thank him, and hand it to Snow before assisting my sister into the carriage. 

“What is this?” Snow asks, opening it as he gets in. The smell of sugar is overwhelming in the small space as he gazes at the assorted puddings.

His expression is worth the suspicious looks Mordelia gives me (and which I ignore) the whole way back home. 

  
**SIMON**  
  
"This must be paradise," I tell him as we lounge in the field after luncheon. We’ve returned to the country estate as promised, the fervid pace of London forgotten as we recline in the sun. Mordelia had joined us for awhile before begging off, explaining that she needed to repay a visit to some country friends.  
  
"Hardly, this is too country even for the likes of you." I crack open an eye, glancing at where Baz is seated in the shade of an aspen tree.  
  
"I adore it. The countryside is the only place I’ve ever felt truly at home. Have I ever told you what my dream profession was when I was younger?” He shakes his head. “I had hoped to be a farm hand,” I tell him honestly.  
  
He snorts. "Surely you jest."  
  
"Seriously. The boy's home kept goats and I always volunteered to milk and feed them. Spending time with the goats was the highlight of my youth."

“Then your youth must have been dismal, indeed.”

I smile a little, “it wasn’t always as bad as all that. But I don’t always remember it fondly. I much preferred when I aged out of care. My first occupation was helping the Bunces prepare their livestock for the winter. It was only after Mr. Bunce tutored me in bookkeeping that I started doing business during the winter, when there were no jobs on the land."   
  
"So how did you make the change from bookkeeping to investing?”  
  
"Ah, that was Mr. Lwelleyn’s doing. He came to Mr. Bunce's bookshop and asked for me by name. He said he had already heard of my proficiency at balancing ledgers and hoped for us to do business together.” I hesitate, before adding, “I never knew my parents. I have no family. Mr. Lwelleyn came for me when I had no one. He has offered me opportunities I never imagined having. He's the closest thing I have to a father."  
  
"A father who forces you to marry for his own benefit."  
  
"For the benefit of the family. And don't tell me yours wouldn't have wished the same, had he lived."  
  
His mouth twists, but he doesn't refute my claim. "My father would have been severely disappointed, for I do not intend to marry."  
  
I raise my brows in surprise. "No?"  
  
"No. I’m sure I have mentioned that I believe marriage, above all, should be based on love- a romantic notion but one I agree with all the same. I could never bring myself to marry a woman knowing that any apparent romantic feelings between us would be completely false."  
  
I turn over, frowning. "Love marriages are exceedingly rare. No one expects love in a marriage- in my experience affection itself is not even guaranteed."  
  
"I don't care what others expect from their own lives. I see no point in engaging in any business half-heartedly, including marriage. I would not be tempted into so serious a contract such as marriage without a partner who could appeal to all manners of practicality and frivolity alike.   
  
"So, now here you agree that affairs of the heart are frivolous."  
  
"Indeed, although this makes them no less important than other matters."  
  
"Excuse me? The very definition of frivolity-"  
  
"Then why are we sitting here at all? Why not return to work immediately lest we be tempted by idle pursuits and other frivolous activities?" I frown, I don't actually want to get up and go back to work. Thankfully, he makes no move to get up and instead stretches out in his patch of shade, closing his eyes. "Because, Snow, these frivolous pursuits give us joy and add meaning to our otherwise dull existences. It is only us, who have known so little of joy, that can appreciate the importance of such frivolity in leading a balanced life ."  
  
"I still don't agree that that opinion justifies allowing Mordelia to dissect the animals you bring back from the hunt." I tell him wryly.   
  
He laughs aloud, and the sound is startling for its rarity. I cannot for the life of me bring to mind a greater shame.   
  
"I don't need to defend myself to you, but I rather enjoy indulging her as I never was. It is my dearest hope that her life is nothing but safe and joyful- and yes, to an extent _frivolous_."   
  
"It would be impossible for it to be anything less, with such a brother.”  
  
He grins and cracks an eye open. "I cannot tell if this is a clumsy attempt at flattery or if you don't quite understand how sarcasm works. However, I would hope you have sense enough to refrain from mocking me while a guest in my home."

“Not a word,” I mime sewing my mouth shut and he smiles.

We fall asleep in the field, just like that. 

  
**BAZ**

We’ve been indolent the past few days.

We had wasted no time in dissecting Snow’s encounter with Lady Agatha at the ball. For a first meeting, we all had to admit that is was more successful than we would have thought. However, the question on how to build on this success remains.

It continues to remain day after day as we lounge in the sun, ignoring responsibilities and basking in the tenderness of late spring. 

“Do you ride, Snow?” I ask him one morning after breakfast. He wrinkles his nose.

“Not if I can help it,” he says seriously. “I much prefer taking the carriage than riding horseback.”

“You mentioned Lady Agatha is fond of jumping.”

“I did,” he says miserably. “Believe it or not, jumping lessons were not the priority growing up in the boys’ home. I imagine the mistresses were too preoccupied with making sure we didn’t starve to death to bother inspecting our seat.”

“Well considering I have just fed you, I can now be reasonably satisfied that you won’t starve to death before luncheon. Shall we work on improving your skill?”

“If we must.”

“Do you have suitable riding attire?” I ask.

“Do I-? I sure fucking hope so, considering you made me purchase a fortune in clothing. There must be something in that overpriced wardrobe that’s suitable for riding.” 

I grin at his outburst, then leave him to it.

I dress, then wait for him near the stables.

I count myself the luckiest man in Britain as I watch him make his way across the lawn towards me. His breeches are obscenely fitted, his new boots shiny and clinging to the muscles of his calves. I am the smartest man in the country, having taken him to purchase such flattering clothing. I am also the stupidest, because it will all be for the benefit of someone else, soon enough. 

But for now, I allow myself the indulgence of appreciating the view as he draws nearer. Entertaining the dangerous fantasy that this sight is for me and me alone.

“It’s such a shame. The weather is delightful, I’d much rather spend the morning reading in the sunshine, perhaps next to the lake,” he says lightly as I lead him into the stables.

The look on his face amuses me. “Full points for the attempt at manipulation, Snow. However, you forget that I already know your proclivity for avoiding work, and how much you dislike reading.” 

The stable master prepares the horses for us, and we slide into the saddles without issue. I am pleased to see that Snow is able to mount a horse, at the very least. His anxiousness made me wonder whether he had no experience at all.

He doesn’t look pleased as we near the jumping course. It’s a standard course, the first few jumps being quite easy, but the look on his face lets me know that he doesn’t consider them as such.

  
**SIMON**

I probably should have said something earlier, but I really fucking hate horses. It’s one thing to ride in a carriage- and another completely to _ride_ , let alone _jump_.

I had been under the impression that most young ladies enjoyed drawing and playing the piano forte. How is my luck so poor that I am attempting to court a lady who _jumps_.

I should be listening to Baz, but I can hardly pay attention to anything beyond my wild thoughts. I wonder how many people have broken their necks while riding? I feel like it’s probably a lot.

“It’s just like fencing, Snow,” Baz is saying, gesturing towards me, “in that it all comes down to balance. Make sure you shift your weight as your horse jumps, tense your leg muscles to absorb the shock of landing. Make sure you have complete and utter trust in your horse, they can tell when a rider is inexperienced and nervous, and it makes them temperamental.”

I swallow. “Perhaps you should demonstrate?” I say peevishly.

I regret it, watching him ride and then the grace with which he moves as he urges his horse over the first jump. He makes it look easy, seamless. Is there no end to the things Baz is proficient at?

I growl as he leads the horse back to where I wait. “You didn’t need to show off so blatantly. You know I am a beginner.”

He adjusts his jacket and raises a brow at me. It makes me boil with anger. “What point is there in participating in any activity if not to the best of your ability? Your ineptitude does not mean that I should allow incompetence in my own attempts.” 

“Fuck off,” I tell him, pulling the reigns tightly.

I let out a breath. I can do this.

I urge the horse forward and keep my eyes on the fence. I can do this.

The wind is whistling in my ears, my blood rushing with restlessness. I almost don’t hear Baz cry out over it all.

“Simon!”

I blink a couple of spots away, all of a sudden staring up at the sky. It’s very, very blue. The edge of my vision darkens, and I wonder whether I am about to die- but it’s only Baz, having dismounted and run to my side, leaning over me and casting his shadow.

“How was that?” I ask as he kneels beside me in the mud, checking for injury.

“Is anything broken?” he asks wildly, patting me down. The concern on his face is touching. It’s almost pleasant, actually, to lie here on my back with the light of the sun on my face, a pair of warm, steady hands on me . It would be positively enjoyable if every inch of my body didn’t feel like it had been thrown under a carriage and dragged from here to London.

“Only my spirit,” I inform him as I groan and let him help me to my feet. “That is much too dangerous a sport for any lady. You should remove that hazard at once.” He brushes some dirt and who knows what else out of my hair.

“I appreciate your concern, but I find myself unable to. This course is beloved to Mordelia, and I would not risk her wrath.”  
  
“You let Mordelia do _that_?” I ask, pointing at the jump crazily.

“You misunderstand me, Mordelia does not do that jump,” he says, and I nod in agreement. “She mastered that one when she was seven. She now only bothers with the more complex jumps, for experts,” he informs me, pointing to other jumps further along the course. 

Baz follows me back to the house, laughing the entire way at my expense. I find him later, after I’ve rested and bathed, reading by the lake.

“I decided to take your good advice,” he tells me, grinning as I frown and sit down beside him with the day’s paper. I wince slightly, and hope he hasn’t noticed. The gleam in his eyes tells me that it was too much to hope for. 

  
**BAZ**  
  
Mordelia and I bring it up over supper one night.  
  
A private ball- albeit a small one. No overnight guests, but enough of the ton to warrant the occasion.   
  
"It'll be a test run," I told him, "to make sure you're prepared for the rest of the season and for whatever comes after."  
  
We set the date for a month's time, near the end of the season. Mordelia complains, and I assure her that no one would assume this is an effort to arrange a marriage for her.  
  
(She's too young for this to appear to be a desperate ploy, but to be safe I don't mention it to her when I turn down several offers of courtship during the weeks leading up to the ball.)  
  
Mordelia and Snow take great pleasure in organizing the kitchens, sampling everything. I myself indulge in selecting the music and band. It has been a long time, since before my mother's death, that my household has hosted a ball. Once mother died there did not seem to be anything to celebrate. As it was, my stepmother had already been widowed when she married my father, and thus their engagement and wedding ceremony had been small and private.  
  
"Your Grace," Snow asks the night before the festivities as we have our after supper brandy on the patio. (He's an imbecile. We've been lingering over conversation all afternoon and into the evening. His manners of address are still somehow absolutely appalling, but it seems cruel to call him out on it the night before such an important event, when he is certain to be nervous.) "Might I have this dance?"  
  
My heart stops.  
  
He grins sheepishly. "I need the practice, I feel like we haven't done that enough recently."  
  
There are a million reasons why I shouldn't, but I slip my hand into Snow's and let myself lean my cheek against the top of his head while he leads me across the patio in a perfectly acceptable waltz. There's no music, but we don't need it. 

I close my eyes and indulge myself, willing myself to believe that we are dancing, here, on the patio of our home because we could not bear to have our bodies be so separate from each other. That he's pulling me close because he wants me near to him. That when the night is deep and quiet, we will find ourselves in my bed- _our bed_ \- sharing love, completely inseparable; a single living soul with two intertwined hearts. 

“Baz,” he whispers, and I nudge his temple with my cheek. It’s unbearable to be so close to him- but I can’t imagine ever pulling away.

I once told him I’d never fall in love.

How unfortunate it is indeed that Simon Snow has finally succeeded in making a liar of me. 

\----

It’s a tense evening, despite the festivities.

Although you couldn’t tell it by looking at Snow, or even Mordelia.

I fret over making introductions, steering conversation to topics he might be able to contribute to, but in the end I needn’t bother. He's a perfect gentleman. 

I ought to take pride in my work, but the whole situation brings me little comfort. I have fed and clothed him, polished him up, and tied a pretty bow around his neck for his future wife. 

That bow will be my own noose. 

There's a small, but enthusiastic group of eligible women vying for his attention after supper. My heart does something unpleasant when I see that Lady Agatha is among them.  
  
"Mr. Snow," Lady Wellbelove coos at him, "it would be our pleasure to have you as a personal guest next week at our house party. You must come to town at once to help us finalize plans. It would be our pleasure to see more of you."  
  
Mordelia finds me hours later in the greenhouse, cigar in hand.  
  
"Stop it, you'll get ash on your best jacket." she admonishes.  
  
I sigh and shrug. "It hardly matters."  
  
"Basil," she chides, reaching out, and I yank away from her, throwing the cigar to the ground.  
  
"Fuck the jacket! I'll burn it, and all the other ones I own too! What does it matter anyway? I can walk into any tailor in the country and order a dozen more! Better ones even! I'm the Duke- there isn't anything I can't have!"  
  
And all of a sudden I'm crumbling, tears falling faster than I can wipe them away. In no time my sleeve is soaked as I hide my face in the crook of my elbow. I hear, then feel, Mordelia sit beside me on the bench, and she tucks a bit of hair behind my ear.   
  
"Enough," she says, but not unkindly, "there's no use in sitting here sobbing into your shirtsleeves."  
  
"Believe me, this was not my first choice in how to spend the evening."  
  
It wasn't. I'd hoped to watch Snow from afar as he dazzled. Watch him dance and pretend like he was thinking of me while he did it- last night, my hand in his, our bodies pressed together as we watched the sun go down. I’d have watched the candlelight in his hair and imagined that if I stuck around long enough, maybe we'd be the only ones left there in front of the hearth- then I could take his hand and…  
  
And what exactly?  
  
I let out a shaking breath and scrub my hands across my face.  
  
This infatuation is juvenile, and a disgrace to my name and position. But even though I repeat that to myself all night long, still the tears come.   
  
\------  
  
I'm up with the servants well before dawn.  
  
I spend the early hours with the chickens, then in the stables. I can't bear going anywhere near the goats, and instead make a note to delegate that particular chore.   
  
I avoid the house as long as possible. Going inside and having breakfast means the day has well and truly begun, and the thought of sitting next to him at the table for the last time is unbearable. I know I should send the valet to get him up and ready for the day- the sooner he's gone the sooner I can forget about him- but the warmth in my chest at the thought of him in my house is the only thing stronger than the dread I feel at knowing that we have finally come to the end.  
  
It isn't until I let myself relax, dipping my feet into the fountain in the gardens, that he comes to find me.

“You’ve been busy,” he remarks, squinting in the dim of the early morning. I have been. I hadn’t slept after the ball, instead thinking of a hundred different things I could say to him that would make it so that he might never leave my side . “I’ve sent a note to the Wellbeloves. They stayed at Lord Kelly’s estate last night. I am to join them this evening at their terrace in London.”

It seems I have exhausted all possibilities, and now the only one that remains is to let him go in such a way that allows me a shred of dignity.  
  
"Well then, I guess this is goodbye." I tell him, looking out over the estate. It’s perverse how my family’s pride and joy, my childhood home, is now tarnished with memories of him. How the land I’ve known and loved my entire life brings nothing but thoughts of our bucolic season together.  
  
"Until next week," he says, smiling crookedly, "contingent on your condescension to my company over brandy at the Wellbelove's, of course."  
  
I let my lip curl. "Surely not. I make it a habit to never attend society functions lest I can help it."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I am not a man who is wont to flaunt himself in society. I prefer being here, in the privacy of the estate. It is therefore my belief that we should have no reason to ever meet again."  
  
"What? I don't mind making the journey here to visit- to see Mordelia, to see you." he says, looking confused.  
  
I take a deep breath. He broke my heart first, and so I don’t mind repaying the favour however little I can. "It would not do to visit without an invitation, sir." The look on his face mirrors the feeling in my own heart, and I cannot stand to look at him a second more. I turn away to look towards the sunrise instead, focusing on the horizon. "Wasn't that the deal? That I help you secure a wife in exchange for your silence, and the promise that we never speak to each other again?"  
  
The query is facetious. I know that was the deal- we shook on it, once upon a time.  
  
"I released you from that deal- that's done. This is…" he lets out a breath and looks around wildly. "Baz-" he starts, shakily. I take a deep breath. I don't know what I want him to say.  
  
(I'm lying. I do. I've thought of nothing but what I want him to say to me, here, as we stand beside each other for what may very well be the last time. I want him to take me in his arms and to tell me that he could never imagine marrying anyone else now that's he's known me. That life without me would be unbearable. That we'll run away to Gretna Green to marry, and spend the rest of our lives together.)  
  
But because I live in the real world instead of my longing fantasies, he says none of these things, and instead turns on his heel and walks right out of the gardens.   
  
  
**SIMON**  
  
There is a feeling of dread hanging over me in the carriage.  
  
My nerves are frayed, despite this simply being a formality. Lord Wellbelove has already assured me that he would grant his permission for courtship and marriage to Lady Agatha. And as Mordelia and Baz have assured me, she has every reason to accept.  
  
This time tomorrow the announcement of our engagement could be printed in the society section of the paper if I wish. My sons will be the grandsons of a Baron, an unfathomable achievement for a boy from a children's home.  
  
Mr. Lwelleyn will be proud.  
  
But even with all the things that must be done to prepare for my journey into married life, I can think of nothing but Baz.  
  
The way he wouldn't look my way as we parted. It's unfathomable to think that after all these months we may never speak again. That I'll never wake up again to the sound of the birds, and Baz cursing as he attempts to tend to the livestock he swears he hates.  
  
He needs someone to help him wrangle the estate. He's too stubborn, refusing to hire a new groundskeeper. I can't for the life of me figure out why.  
  
(There is no end to the list of things Baz needs. It begins with a groundskeeper, but it goes on and on. A business partner to help him modernize the estate and his investments, a friend to help him see when he's being obtuse and give him honest guidance. A wife- no, a _husband_ \- to support him, bring him joy, and end his loneliness.)   
  
Honestly, I am not sure that I'm looking forward to married life. Every moment so far with Lady Agatha has required my utmost attention to make sure I don't say something to embarrass her, or seem like I'm disinterested (or too interested, even). It's a lot of work. In addition, the Wellbeloves have relocated permanently to London. I could always purchase us a country estate but…  
  
It wouldn’t be quite like the Pitch estate. It wouldn't have the same character, the same cluttered, lived-in feel. The history.  
  
The people.

The day drags slowly as we ride to town. I check my pocketwatch and wonder what Baz and Mordelia are doing. Whether Baz is reading in his favourite spot by the lake, breeze in his hair and a plate of cured meats at his side. If I had stayed, we might have fallen asleep to the sound of the wind in the reeds, after quarrelling about the relative pleasure of reading in the first place. No doubt Mordelia would have come and found us for tea, tossing sticks and stones from behind one of the trees until we’d woken up and spotted her. 

Thinking of these little pleasures makes the time pass, and soon I'm standing in front of the door of the Wellbelove's terrace. The door swings open and the butler ushers me in. I'm so distracted I almost forget to give him my hat.  
  
I greet the Baron on autopilot. I barely remember acquiescing to stay for supper. Long after the sun has gone down, Lady Agatha and I are alone in the sitting room. I don't even know how we got here.  
  
The firelight from the hearth flickers across her face and shines in her hair. She smiles at me despite the lackluster conversation. She's so beautiful, the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. We'd have the most beautiful children.  
  
"Agatha," I finally say, as I take both her hands in mine, "I've been meaning to talk to you all evening." 

\----

The next morning Mr. Lwelleyn sends me a calling card, summoning me to his terrace. I send my apologies to Lady Agatha, who I had promised to take riding through Hyde Park this afternoon. Instead I head over to Mr. Lwelleyn’s right after lunch.

The butler takes my hat and I go to Mr. Lwelleyn’s study.

“Ah, Simon.” He stands to shake my hand. 

That’s new.

“Congratulations on your courtship.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Well done. I have no doubts that an advantageous marriage is to follow shortly.”

I incline my head.

“I must admit that I called you here for rather boring business, although we should celebrate the good news before we allow ourselves to get caught up in work.”

Something catches my eye on his desk, partially covered by the morning newspaper. 

“Let me run down to the cellar. I’ve stashed a fine bottle of brandy for moments such as this-”

I’m not even listening to him anymore. I barely wait until he’s out of the room before I fling myself at his desk, pushing papers aside until it’s in my hands.

An envelope. 

With Baz’s familiar, tidy hand loping across the front.

I open it with shaking hands.

Inside I find £500.

I’m still holding it when Mr. Lwelleyn re-enters the study. He stops when he sees the look on my face.

“Ah, as you can see it’s been busy in town without you. I haven’t even managed to find time to stop at the bank-”

“The writing on this envelope belongs to the Duke of Pitch.” I finally say, looking up at him.

“Yes, I had meant to ask about your new friendship. I wasn’t aware that the two of you were acquainted. I imagine he must have introduced you to Lady Agatha? How fortuitous-”

“Lwelleyn,” I interrupt him, “why do you have £500 in an envelope with Baz’s handwriting on it?”

“ _Baz_?” he chokes. “Forgive me, I was unaware of the depth of your friendship.” I stare at him. He waves his hand, turning away from me. “It is of no consequence- only a gentlemen’s agreement . I should warn you, however- there are rumours pertaining to the Duke. While I have no doubts as to the honest nature of your friendship, know that others may not give you the benefit of the doubt considering his… proclivities.”

It takes a moment for everything to fall into place.

“You’re blackmailing him.” 

I sound so angry I don’t recognize my own voice.

“I am doing nothing of the sort,” Mr. Lwelleyn says, turning on me. “The Duke and I have an agreement. As it does not concern you in the slightest, I advise you to stay out of it. Don’t forget that our business ventures rely on the trust we have in each other. You need me, my connections, my family name. I’d advise you to rethink your position before addressing me again with such disrespect.”

I’m shaking.

I leave without my hat. I step out onto the front steps, with no idea where to start.

Then I head to the bank.   
  
  
**BAZ**  
  
I don't sleep the night after Snow leaves. I know it will take him most of the day to get from here to London, but I spend the whole day imagining his enthusiasm, his eagerness. I imagine he won't even bother changing out of his travelling clothes before he sweeps Lady Agatha off her feet.  
  
I stay in my study the entire night, and the next day, and into the night.   
  
Mordelia comes to see me, laden with a tray from the kitchen.  
  
I don't bother eating. Instead I sit by the fire and wonder what Snow's doing in London. It starts to storm outside, the lightning throwing shadows across the study. It's a welcome change in weather to suit my mood.

It rains constantly over the week, and I continue to sit in front of the fire. I lose track of the days. I eat from the tray mechanically, barely tasting the food. Occasionally Mordelia throws open the doors and drags me upstairs with the aid of my valet, throwing me into the bath. It’s never warm, but I barely notice, distracted as I am. 

Mordelia spends the rest of the days sitting outside the door to my study, reading to me from the daily paper.

“Any news of Snow?” I ask her every morning.

“None,” she says.

“Forget it then,” I tell her, and wave her away.

But she never listens. 

  
**SIMON**

It takes longer than I anticipated. Over a week. 

I work tirelessly.

It turns out knowing how to make good investments brings knowledge of how to make bad ones as well. I spend over twenty five thousand pounds in the first week. Then I amuse myself by setting up payments backing more. I sign Mr. Lwelleyn’s name on everything. 

By the time he catches up with me he’s furious.

“Simon!” he barges right past my butler, and runs into my study where I’m currently signing a document to invest fifteen hundred pounds in my neighbours’ son’s tannery. The boy has never worked with his hands in his life- only recently deciding to drop out of Cambridge to open a tannery on his father’s land.

Needless to say, it doesn’t look promising.

“Mr. Lwelleyn, please sit,” I gesture to the seat in front of my desk, “can I offer you something to drink?”

Mr. Lwelleyn turns purple, but I can’t help but be pleased at my show of manners. Mordelia would be so proud.

“Simon- what is the meaning of this?” he hisses at me, “thirty five thousand pounds in ludicrous investments. Every deal you’ve brokered is absolute rubbish- this is beyond our yearly capital. These debts will come due and I won’t have the profits to pay them back-”

“We won’t,” I remind him, “our businesses rely on each other. I am equally responsible for these debts.”

“What in God’s name-”

“You’ll be pleased to know I went to the bank before I began investing,” I tell him lightly. He still looks like he might pummel me, but I’ve come to see Mr. Lwelleyn in a new light as of late. He no longer inspires the reverence or fear I used to feel. “It turns out that I have just enough personal assets to pay these debts back. I never did quite get around to reinvesting my profits in new ventures, unlike you. As it stands, I intend to pay these debts back as they come due.”

“You moron! What do you think will-”

“What I expect will happen,” I say, “is that you and I will cease to do business together once and for all. That you will return the Duke’s money to him- and never speak to either of us again. And should you threaten or do anything to harm either of us, then I intend to let the debts lapse, and allow the creditors to come for both of us.”

“This is absolutely mental!”

“Perhaps, although I admit- having a powerful and rich ally makes me confident that I might fare better with the creditors than yourself. However, if you follow the terms of these conditions, I shall happily use my assets to pay these debts year after year as they come due, and you will find yourself without consequence.”

He’s spluttering, still purple in the face. I worry for a moment that he might be driven to apoplexy right here in my study. “After everything I’ve done for you- this is how you would treat me? Wait until you have my absolute trust, then force me-”

“No one is forcing you to do anything.” I tell him sternly. “This is a business deal- a gentlemen’s agreement. I have said my bit- now make your decision.”

Then I hold out my hand. 

  
**BAZ**  
  
The knock on my study door is vexing- Mordelia has already forced me into the tub and dropped off a tray laden with foods. I have suffered from her intrusion enough today.  
  
"Go away, Mordelia!" I yell at the door, looking into my glass of whiskey. I don't even remember pouring it. "Are you out of your mind?" I hiss at her, turning around in my seat as the door creaks open.  
  
It's Snow.  
  
Simon Snow is standing in the doorway to my study, making a steadily growing puddle on the antique carpet.   
  
I am so surprised I momentarily forget myself.  
  
"Simon?"  
  
He doesn't bother taking his overcoat off before he's striding forward into the room.  
  
He's carrying an enormous bouquet of flowers, which are dripping. 

“He was blackmailing you.” I blink up at him. This is not exactly how I pictured our reunion. “Mr. Lwelleyn,” he clarifies, “Mordelia is incredible at cards. She won every hand we ever played. She would never lose that much money gambling.”

“Ah-,” I don’t dare ask him how he knows. At our first meeting I had considered that he and Lwelleyn were in on it together, but getting to know Snow taught me (rightfully) that he’s more principled than our initial meeting would have had me think. He wouldn’t have the stomach for it. “I suppose so.”

“Baz, why didn’t you tell me?”

I open my mouth, but I don’t know what to tell him.

“Baz, never hide anything from me ever again.” 

It’s an order. I’m still staring at him, mouth open and brain struggling to catch up as he finally comes closer. He kneels next to my chair, and finally presents me with the flowers. Up close I can see that the arrangement is awful.  
  
"I did it myself," he says nervously.

(It explains a lot. Except what the fuck this all means.)   
  
I can’t look at him, instead staring at the bouquet in my hands. The flowers are soaked, and the chill from the rain is seeping through my shirtsleeves but I clutch on to them like a lifeline- my heart ready to pound right out of my chest. 

Red tulips, daffodils, gardenia, jonquil, and-  
  
A large spray of spider flowers. I almost stop breathing.  
  
"Baz, I love you deeply, and unconscionably. I have no interest in being the husband of any person who is not you. You make me a better person, you make me happy, and I believe I could make you much the same."   
  
My hands shake, the flowers trembling. My heart is breaking.  
  
"Snow- don't. It's not how this ends for us- we can't, it's not-"  
  
I'm shaking. I can't believe I am here, at the very edge of my heart's deepest desire, and without the opportunity to accept.   
  
"I don't care what anyone thinks, I am not ashamed of my feelings for you. I may not be- you know I am not a man of God, but I have spent enough time in church to realize that either the love I have for you is as sacred as any other- else it is all a lie. Through loving you I have come to know myself, and uh, actually the world really, in ways never before- these feelings, bringing so much joy and good to my life, could never be anything other than sacred. I have come to know- or understand as it may- that I would rather spend my life with you and accept whatever judgement comes from it, than spend it married to someone else and lie to myself and the world every day about what I feel in my own heart.”   
  
I start crying, which brings my embarrassing tally for the week up . I can't believe I've allowed myself to feel so weak. But Simon doesn't seem to care, kneeling in front of my arm chair. His hands are cold, and wet, but I let him wipe the tears from my face.  
  
"Baz, let me tend to your estate. Let me help you raise your sister. Let me fall asleep every night to the sound of your breathing and wake every morning to the sunlight on your face. That would be enough for me. And if I am enough for you, then I ask you to share your love and your life with me."   
  
I stare at him. He's soaked, dripping onto the carpet, and his hair is wild from riding into the night. His clothing is mussed and disheveled, and I've never seen anything so perfect in my whole life. I throw the flowers onto the desk, and fist my hand in his collar.  
  
"Baz-"  
  
"Shut up, shut up you imbecile," I hiss and shove him backwards. He looks alarmed for a quick moment before laughing as I press him down into the rug and wrestle his great coat off him.  
  
We kiss wildly, passionately. It's everything I had ever hoped for and more. His hands are in my hair, his cuffs dripping rain water down the back of my neck and nothing except the threat of suffocation could make me pull away from him in this moment.

He does it for me, pulling away slowly and gently, before cupping my cheek with his hand. My eyelashes flutter, and I turn my face to kiss his palm. It’s unbearable, the swell of joy and longing within me.   
  
"I must inform you- I have recently brokered a series of appalling business deals. I would dearly love to provide for you as a husband ought, but I have nothing left with which to broker a deal of marriage-”  
  
"Shut _up_ ," I tell him again, pushing away and sitting up, "you absolute _arse_."  
  
I pull my signet ring off my finger and take his hand in mine. It's cold.   
  
I slide the ring onto his finger and can't help but think about how much I'm going to enjoy every moment of the rest of this evening warming him up, especially now that he's all mine.   
  
We both stare at the glow of the fire on the ring, then I tilt his face back up.  
  
"I belong wholly to you,” I tell him honestly, with an open heart, “now, belong to me."  
  
And he pulls me down with him to the rug, sealing our promise with another kiss.  


**MORDELIA**  
  
Vera wakes me up in time for breakfast.  
  
"Drat," I say, clambering out of bed and shrugging her off as she tries to dress me, "I was supposed to be up in time to collect the papers before they'd been ironed. I don't suppose they're still downstairs?"  
  
"No, my Lady, they've been brought up for his Grace to read over breakfast."  
  
"Fuck."  
  
I barely wait for her to fasten my gown before I head downstairs. Baz will still be in one of his moods, and seeing Mr. Snow’s name all over the paper will only make it worse. He’s been everywhere in the news recently. First confirming his official courtship of Lady Agatha, and then with his questionable investments. I’ve hidden the stories from him of course, although it seems he’s been ungrateful for my efforts, with his intention to ruin them as he is this morning.

I should have asked Vera to wake me earlier so I could have thrown the whole damned paper into the fire.  
  
I run into the breakfast salon and stop in my tracks. Mr. Snow is sitting at the table, talking quietly to Baz. The paper lays forgotten on the silver tray the maitre must have sent up. I wave Mr. Snow off as he starts to stand- I didn't bother teaching him his manners just to have to suffer through them.   
  
I take my usual seat and elbow the paper to the floor and kick it under the table just in case.  
  
"Good morning, Lady Mordelia."  
  
"A pleasure, Mr. Snow."  
  
It's a surprise too, but I don't bother letting him know. I sneak a look over at Baz, who hasn't bothered looking at me once. He's too busy gazing besottedly at Snow- who is currently spreading what looks like our entire store of butter on his scones.  
  
A flash of gold catches my eye and-  
  
Oh.  
  
"I'm surprised to see you both here, brother. Surely the estate can afford a honeymoon somewhere other than Hampshire." I say mildly, as I fix myself a plate.  
  
Mr. Snow stops with his scone halfway to his mouth and Baz finally condescends to look over at me, expression rather smug.  
  
"Nice ring," I tell Mr. Snow, who flushes deeply but holds his head high as he stuffs his mouth full of pastry.  
  
"Thanks," he says with his mouth full.  
  
"So," I decide to broach the subject directly, "while I am ecstatic that you've both pulled your heads out of your arses, how exactly is this to work?"  
  
"Uh-" Snow says, glancing over at Baz as though he hasn't bothered to think ahead.  
  
Typical.  
  
"It seems as though the estate is in dire need of a farm hand and groundskeeper," Baz says smoothly, "considering we recently lost ours in a rush."  
  
"I'm going to keep your grounds?" Snow asks.  
  
"Well, it's not like I'm going to be doing it. You’re the one who dreamt of being a farm hand.”

"And in the winter?" he asks.  
  
"I imagine we'll be quite busy with the bookkeeping and travel to research new business opportunities."  
  
"And the family name?" I ask, because it ought to be said.  
  
He shrugs, "I'm just as much a Grimm as I am a Pitch. I doubt our younger brother will complain too heartily about inheriting the estate once I pass it on."

I nod. Then smile.

“Well, in case it wasn’t evident, I’m quite happy for you both.” They smile at each other in a way that makes me blush. “And of course, let me be the first to congratulate you, Mr. Snow, on your most advantageous marriage.”

“Thanks,” he says, sliding his hand across the table and taking Baz’s. “I couldn’t have done it without you both.” 

“Indeed. It was the appalling manners and tolerable dancing that did me in,” Baz says, without a hint of irony as he brings Mr. Snow’s hand up to his lips.

I wrinkle my nose at the display. Disgusting.

I frown at my plate, suddenly no longer in the mood for breakfast.

“Are you going to eat that?” Mr. Snow asks, pulling his hand back and grinning as I slide my plate over towards him.

I’m going to have to increase our weekly food order. I watch Mr. Snow consume my appropriated breakfast and decide maybe to have it doubled, just to be safe.

I get up and head towards the entrance hall. Glancing back into the breakfast salon I see Baz moving his chair so that he can sit as close as humanly possible to Mr. Snow, who looks to be in a state of wonder as he continues surveying the table. I doubt either of them have noticed my absence.

I grin to myself and decide that maybe I ought to make the most of it and use the opportunity to check out the bones I’d noticed next to the ravine on the far edge of the estate. 

I have no doubt that all of us would know exactly what to do with a couple hours of privacy. 

**Author's Note:**

> I am working on a little explicit follow up that fits in right after Simon's super extra (and out of character) love confession, but it might take me a couple of weeks. I had a lot of fun with this AU, I may come back again someday.
> 
> Thanks as always for checking it out, I'm super grateful.
> 
> I can also be found on [tumblr](https://sharkmartini.tumblr.com/).


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